


Laid Out One By One

by holly_violet



Series: Laid Out One By One [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 5+1 Things, Agatha Wellbelove Finds Out, Angst, Author Projecting onto Simon Snow, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Canonical Character Death, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Coming Out, Dancing, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Flying, Football Baz, Getting Together, M/M, Making Out, Mild Angst, Nightmares, Rating May Change, Real Estate Agents, Reunions, Tags Are Hard, Texting, Walking In On Someone, Wordcount: Over 20.000, but stay safe, dev and niall are buzzkills, either way it's my magnum opus, first I love you, fuck the mage, happy boyfriends, i don't think the character deaths warrant an archive warning bc they're canonical, i might podfic this??? idk????, latin is hard, listen the last chapter is just a montage of Nice Things, movies - Freeform, niall is nice and dev is a dumbass lad, simon's like... super into baz's Strong Angry Vampire thing, they say those 3 big words you guys, use of queen for dramatic effect, we love and support agatha, what's the tag for becoming official
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-01 20:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19185058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holly_violet/pseuds/holly_violet
Summary: What if Simon and Baz got together at the end of seventh year, and as the events of their eighth year unfold around them, they tried to keep it secret. From everyone. And, as expected, fail disastrously.





	1. fiona

**Author's Note:**

> (update 11/9/19: this fic now has a prequel! it's before this in the series. xx)
> 
> title from Flaws by Bastille
> 
> hello and welcome to the only thing I've been writing for the past month or so! this fic is kind of like a collection of interconnected one-shots set over Watford 8th year, which are loosely in the 5&1 things format (five times someone finds out & the first person they tell).rather than one continuous story. the date at the start of each chapter should help you figure out how the chapters all fit into the Carry On storyline.
> 
> shoutout to [pidgethegreatgunderson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgethegreatgunderson/pseuds/pidgethegreatgunderson) for beta-ing & listening to my constant grumbling
> 
> enjoy!

_ Early October, 2015 _

**simon**

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Baz’s aunt’s car, and she’s not driving fast enough. 

Baz would be able to tell you what kind of car this is, but I can’t. All I know is that the leather seats are sticking to my thighs whenever I try to move, and that the speakers are very good. She’s blasting Queen, but keeping her eyes determinedly on the road.

Despite the fact that we’re currently driving to save Baz, aka her nephew who’s been missing for six weeks, I’m fairly sure she’s keeping to the speed limit just to spite me. We want to get to the bridge that we’re fairly sure Baz is being held captive under as fast as possible, but yet she’s pointedly doing seventy miles per hour. 

I’m definitely fidgeting. We’ve been driving for an hour or so already, so we’ve done all the talking we need to, and I don’t have a phone or a book or anything to keep me occupied. Every so often, her eyes slide right, to me, and she half-smirks, as she sees me fiddling with my shirt or picking at the skin at the side of my nails. The sun is glaring in my eyes, and I’m convinced that I’m going to get a sunburn, even through the window (or, alternatively, even more freckles than I already have). I think it amuses her, to see me uncomfortable.

She cranks up the heating. Even though Baz has told me that the Pitches are a family of fire mages, I guess it runs in the family to be cold even when it’s hot.

Or it runs in the family to pretend to be cold, just to make me unpleasantly sweaty. Like I think Baz used to, in our room at school. Before the final term of our seventh year changed everything.

Oh, Merlin.  _ Baz.  _

The summers are dreadful for me—holed up in a foster home somewhere, barely allowed to leave for even a day, unable to use magic for fear of blowing something up like I did the first time. I always miss Penny and good food and magic desperately, but this year it was even worse, because I missed Baz, too. It was like the cherry on top of my self-pity.

I did a lot of thinking, this summer, which is very unusual for me.

Baz and I got together in the last few weeks of last year. We never really talked about  _ us.  _

Penny and I arrived back at school after being snatched by the Humdrum covered in blood and dirt, and terrified out of our minds. We’d just had the earth-shattering realisation that the Humdrum looked like a kid version of me, and we hadn’t fully processed that before every adult in the vicinity took it upon themselves to quickly make sure we were semi-alright and then to interrogate us.

I didn’t see Baz for hours. Until I went back to our room, still with mud on my face (but no blood, because someone spelled that off me. Don’t know why they didn’t remove the mud, too) and in the same rags of clothes that I’d been wearing for far too long. 

He looked very much taken aback. I guess he must have simply been worried about me, in hindsight, but it was still pretty shocking that he didn’t make some kind of pointed comment about how much of a mess I looked.

We managed a conversation. I was so exhausted, that I didn’t feel like fighting him. Then, my tired mind realised I never felt like fighting him. 

I don’t honestly know how I ended up with him lying on my bed  _ with  _ me once I had showered and changed, but it was nice to have someone close. It helped me remember that I was alive, and so was Penny, and nothing was hurting either of us right at that moment.

I also don’t know how I ended up kissing him. But I did. And it was really nice.

So I kissed him again. And again. And then on the last day of the year, before I left with the Mage, he told me he’d liked me for years, and then we kissed until I was seeing stars. So, I guess we’re a thing.

Anyway, when I came back to school this year, I was looking forward to seeing him so much that it was all-consuming. When I stepped into our room, I missed the smell of his fancy products—cedar, bergamot, maybe sandalwood, definitely something floral somewhere. I missed running my hands through his unsurprisingly soft hair, and the feeling of him running his tongue or teeth over my lips until they were red and pleasantly sore.

And then he didn’t show up.

And now Fiona and I finally know where he is, and we’re going to find him.

Even if it means sitting and silently sweltering in her car for a while.

Finally, I muster the courage to speak again. Fiona is almost more terrifying than Baz when she’s on a mission.

“Can we go over the plan, one more time? I really don’t want to fuck this up.” My voice is scratchy, both from disuse and the hot, dry air. And the fact that I haven’t drunk anything whatsoever today.

“It’s not complicated, Chosen One,” she replies. She  _ insists  _ on calling me that. “We go in there, you kill whatever creature’s holding him captive, I get him out, we take him back to the Pitch house, you go back to school, all is well.”

“What if I can’t kill it? Or if it’s a person, not a thing? I won’t kill a person, Fiona.”

“Then keep them busy. I shouldn’t need long. Just try not to go nuclear, preferably.”

Of  _ course  _ she knows that I tend to do that. Did Baz tell her, before we cooled it with the constant and often-violent antagonism? I can just imagine him,  when we were kids, saying ‘ _ Fiona, Simon Snow has no control over his magic whatsoever. He’s the worst Chosen One ever to have been chosen.’ _

“Snow, I’m still not entirely sure why you’re here. Why would you want to help me save Baz? I was under the impression that the two of you hated each other.”

“We have a complicated relationship, but I’d rather he wasn’t missing.”

She doesn’t look satisfied with that answer, but it’s all I’m telling her. I’m assuming Baz wouldn’t want me to tell his aunt that our relationship has had a jarring about-face in the past few months.

I shrug, and slouch into my seat. We can’t be far away, now.

—

I was wrong. We were far away. By another hour, in fact. I almost lost my mind, sitting in that car.

Either way, as we pull up about a hundred metres down from the bridge, it’s late afternoon. The sun isn’t quite setting, but the cooler evening air is a relief. I summon the Sword of Mages, and Fiona and I walk in silence, until we’re standing almost at the base of the bridge.

I hear a rumbling from under the concrete, and look to her for some clue as to what I’m supposed to do here. The bridge has a low base, with just enough space under it for me to walk. She nods at me, raising her eyebrows, and gestures in the general direction of the large, mud-filled puddle under the bridge. 

I take a step toward it, and a great slab of what I thought was concrete moves. 

_ Damn it. Numpties. _

I break into a run. Numpties certainly shouldn’t be a problem if I can single them out, but I’d rather not get crushed by a hulking mass of living building materials, which will happen if they all try to get to me at once. 

Fiona darts to the side— she’s seen something.

_ Keep them busy,  _ she told me. I can do that. 

They aren’t hard to fight, since they’re very politely attacking me one by one. Numpties aren’t particularly intelligent creatures, and these ones seem even less smart, since they apparently just woke up. I run them through with my sword without a problem, and I only start having issues with them when my sword gets so covered with their swampy, thick blood that it’s heavier than I’m used to, and it makes my swing sloppy.

I end up wiping it on my shirt, cringing at the way the numpty blood smells and smears all over my hands, and going straight back into the fight.

It doesn’t take me long. Probably less than ten minutes later, they’re all dead (knocked out? Can they even die? Do they have organs in the first place? Penny would know), so I run after Fiona, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as the gritty concrete-like flesh that’s gotten all over my lower body rubs my thighs raw as I move.

She’s gone under the bridge and through some bushes, and it mustn’t have been easy for her to get through. I make a mental note to thank her for spelling some of the shrubbery clear, because I climb through just fine. I see her, and she’s kneeling on the ground, casting spells frantically, and with such power that I can feel it from here.

“ **Get well soon!** ” I hear her say. “ **Early to bed and early to rise!** ”

She’s not alone.  _ She’s found him. _

Almost before I know it, I’m by her side. I don’t cast any other healing spells, because I don’t trust my ability to speak clearly right now. Because Baz looks like a  _ wreck. _

He’s even paler than he usually is. Normally, his skin is fair, because he’s a vampire, but with a little of the dark, warm tone that shows he’s alive, betrays a little of his Egyptian heritage. Like Fiona’s golden-brown skin tone has had most of the colour desaturated. Now, his skin is deathly grey. It makes my heart rise in my throat. 

His hair is tangled, and it’s much longer than usual. His clothes are torn and stained, and his trousers are soaked with blood around one of his legs, which immediately makes me even more distressed than before.

He looks bleary, and a little more dead behind the eyes than usual. He looks a bit like a more intense version of how he does when he wakes up after studying until four in the morning, but a thousand times more terrified. 

He looks up at me, and his eyes widen, and he almost smiles. I give him a weak grin.

“Hey,” I say, and my voice cracks. That makes him really smile, and I go to hug him, to help him up out of the coffin he’s been stuck in for the past six weeks.

They put him in a  _ coffin.  _ I want to kill whoever did this. I know the numpties didn’t decide to kidnap him, with their collective seven brain cells. Someone sent them to take him, and put him in a coffin, and apparently injure him and keep him from having enough blood for so long that he couldn’t fight them.

He places a shaky hand on my chest, holding me back.

“No, Simon, I— I need to drink.”

Fiona casts  **_Doe! A deer!_ ** , and a few minutes of constant healing spells later, a deer walks out of the bushes. I busy myself while he drinks, and a little colour comes back into his cheeks. Once he says it’s okay, I help him up off the ground, and wrap an arm around his shoulders as we walk back to the car. His arm around my waist is still shaky, and we let Fiona walk ahead of us. So I can talk to him.

“Baz. Hey.”

“Snow. Good to see you,” he says, a little lightness in his tone, and I snort.

“Your leg,” I say, “What happened?”

“Blasted numpties did something to it. Didn’t heal properly. Why aren’t you at school? It’s September.”

“It’s October, actually, and it’s the weekend—”

“It’s  _ October? _ We’re going to Watford. Straight away.”

“Baz, you’ve been in a coffin for six weeks. We’re going to your house. Then, once you’ve recovered, we can go to school.”

“We’ll see about that.”

It makes me feel both exasperated and enamoured that he so badly wants to go back to school that he would forego seeing his family, who’ve been worried sick about him for over a month, just to presumably regain his title as top in our year.

I can relate. Watford is, in my limited knowledge, the best place on Earth.

He stops walking, for a second, and I stop with him. He turns to face me, my arm still around his waist, and leans his head against my shoulder. He’s breathing heavily.

“Baz? What’s wrong? We need to get to the car.”

“It’s just—” He pauses. “I can’t believe you found me. I thought I was going to die for real, down there.”

“I was so worried about you, Baz. We weren’t ever going to stop looking.” He looks into my eyes. His look almost as grey as the numpties. “And, hey, you had the Chosen One, the smartest witch in our year, and your badass of an aunt all looking for you. Of course, we managed.”

“I imagine you contributed a lot to that little group.”

“Duh. I was the mastermind. Obviously.” 

He smirks, and it’s miraculous to see some life come back into his features.

I pull him a little closer.

“Wait, I’m gross.”

“Don’t care.”

He leans into me, and our lips meet, and it feels like coming home.  _ Finally.  _

It’s barely more than a peck. After all, we are outside, and sweaty, and Baz’s aunt isn’t far in front of us. And, admittedly, we are both more than a little gross right now. But kissing Baz again feels like taking the first breath after a deep dive, and I find myself not caring about how the numpty flesh has dried onto my arms, and how Baz’s mouth kind of tastes like blood.

“Missed you,” I murmur against his lips. “So much.”

“You, too.”

—

I sit in the back seat with Baz, for the drive to Pitch Manor. I semi-clumsily bandage his leg— it’s been hurt for so long that Fiona’s healing spells didn’t do much. The nurse back at Watford, or a doctor, will be able to help. or, so I tell myself.

He winces as I wrap a long strip of bandage over the part of his leg that’s actually cut. I’ve put a little antiseptic cream on it, and that always stings. His lower leg’s at a bit of a weird angle, so I think it might be dislocated, maybe even broken. I don’t know anything about injuries. Which is surprising, considering how many I tend to get.

Fiona’s still playing Queen, and Baz is humming along. We stop at a Macca’s about half an hour into the drive, and I stay in the car while Fiona runs in to get all of us something to eat, especially Baz, who looks like he hasn’t eaten since he was kidnapped. I stay in the car, with Baz. Apparently Fiona has something against drive-thrus. Or, maybe, she’s actually being observant and decent, and giving us some time alone.

While she’s gone, I find Baz’s hand. It’s cold, and covered in barely-visible scars from all the scratches Fiona healed. The scars will fade, soon. 

The tips of his fingernails are rough, and a trickle of cold runs down my spine when I realise it’s because he had scratched at the inside of the lid of the coffin, to no avail. Suddenly, I can’t breathe, at the thought of him trying to escape, and not being able to, and waiting for help for so so long, and—

“Hey. What are you thinking, Snow?”

“It’s just— I don’t know, Baz, I—”

“Look at me, Simon.”

I do. His eyes don’t look so grey, like they did when we first got him out. Now they look silver.

“I’m fine. Or, I will be.  _ We’re  _ fine. We can go back to school, and to our room, and everything will go back to normal. Alright?”

I don’t know if I want things to go back to normal.  _ Normal,  _ for us, is fighting, and what we have now is something entirely different.

“I  _ know,  _ it’s just, what if we hadn’t found you? I know I said before that we would’ve, eventually, but—”

“But you  _ did.  _ Look, we should talk about this at some point, but right now I just want to be here with you. Alright?”

“Alright.” 

He unbuckles his seatbelt, and shifts, grimacing as he moves a little closer to me. He cards his fingers through my hair, before cupping my cheek. I press my forehead to his, and place my hand gently on his chest. I feel his pulse beat under my fingertips, and I let my breathing sync with his. His eyes flutter shut, and he lets his hand fall to the nape of my neck. 

I just want to be close to him. Desperately. It’s been too many weeks.

I lean into his touch, and press my lips to his. We’re actually alone, this time, and he sighs into the kiss. I gently bite his lip, the way I know he likes, and the hand that isn’t in my hair tightens on my waist.

Just as I’m about to slip my tongue into his mouth, Fiona pulls open the car door on the driver’s side, and Baz almost jumps away from me.

He yelps, his bad leg jolting in a way that makes even me cringe. Fiona looks at us quizzically.

“Be more careful, Basilton. Can’t have you making that leg even worse. Why did you move, anyway?”

“No reason,” he says, too quickly. I’m blushing. His lips look almost pink, where I bit them. My hair’s a mess, and his looks even messier than it did. She raises an eyebrow at him, and climbs into the front seat, handing us both Big Macs.

I’d have thought we’d gotten away with it, if I didn’t see Fiona wink at Baz in the rear-view mirror. I look at him, and smile a little guiltily. He smiles back.


	2. dev and niall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tags updated)  
> chapter 2, as promised!

_ November 2015 _

**baz**

Simon Snow and I are sitting on the slope of the small hill above the football pitch, and the weak Autumn sun is doing nothing to keep me warm. 

We’ve got three-quarters of an hour before I have to be at football practice. Coach Mac is letting me train with the team, and if I can get my game back up to standard, and sort out my leg, I might be playing matches within a month or so.

I should be heading to one of the gear sheds to get out the cones and ball for practice. I  _ could  _ be warming up, or stretching, or even changing into my training kit. But, instead, I’m sitting with Simon, with his head on my lap, running my hands through his hair.

This feels like a daydream— it’s what I’ve been wishing for, for so many years. Anyone could see us right now, but it’s cold, and most people are inside. Simon decided to come out and watch the team practice while he muddles his way through our Latin homework, but he got here super early, so he persuaded me to come and sit with him.

I say  _ persuaded.  _ He literally had to ask me once.

I’m in a t-shirt, like an idiot, so i’m shivering. Simon opens one eye as I move my hand from his hair, and sees me rub my arms to try and get my goosebumps to disappear.

He sits up, and I frown as he pulls his jumper off. He’s one of very few people who wears anything school-related on weekends, so he’s wearing the surprisingly cosy school jumpers. He struggles with the sleeve, for a moment, before silently handing it to me.

“Snow, you’ll freeze.”

“No, you’ll get hypothermia. I’m always warm. I’ll be fine.” He’s obviously already too cold, the self-sacrificing moron.

“Can I spell it into a blanket? I’ll turn it back afterwards.” 

He nods, and I do, and the jumper transforms into a large, soft blanket, which I drape over both of our shoulders. He tucks his head into my shoulder, and I sit a little closer to him, trying to get to some of his body heat.

Something wonderful that I’ve learned about Simon is that whenever I’m with him, and we’re as close to alone as we can get, he will make every effort to get himself as physically near me as possible. He’ll put his legs or head in my lap, or practically curl up at my side, or sit behind me while I’m studying on my bed and kiss the nape of my neck.

It’s very distracting. If I want to actually focus, I have to sit at my desk, and even then he’ll sometimes find a way to get me off task.

Not that I’m complaining. I love that about him. It’s mutually beneficial, in many ways, for example; I’m always cold, and he’s like a furnace. We balance each other out perfectly.

We sit for a while, just like that. I let my eyes fall closed, trying to get a moment’s peace before I have to go and run around the field for an hour and a half.

I open my eyes, about five minutes later, to see him looking at me, a furrow in his brow. He’s frowning.

“What’s wrong, Simon?”

“It’s just— I was thinking, about  _ us,  _ and…” He trails off. I wait for him to find where his sentence is going. I’ve learned not to push too hard, or to hurry him when he’s trying to say something. He does look adorable when he’s thinking. He tends to tug on those ridiculous bronze curls, and purse his lips. It’s immensely cute.

“Baz, what are we?” he finally finishes, and I jolt back to reality a little.

“What do you want us to be?” I say, slowly, choosing my words carefully.

“Look, I really like you. And, I want to be with you, but— but I’m a terrible boyfriend. Really. Agatha could vouch for that, if you asked her. And I don’t want to, I don’t know, let you down—”

“Simon, I—”

“—Or, or, raise your expectations and then not meet them. Because you’re, like, perfect, and you’re amazing at everything you do, and I know you’d be an amazing boyfriend. But I don’t know if I can match that.”

He’s not looking me in the eye. I lift up his chin with one of my hands, and leave it there, cupping his cheek. With the other hand, I hold his gently, trying to convey something I can’t put into words.

“Simon, having you as my boyfriend would instantly meet any expectations I have. Literally, all I would ask is that you keep kissing me in that incredible way you do,” he smirks at that, “And that you don’t break my nose again. That’s it.”

“Well, then. I think I can do that.” He’s smiling, now. I think I’ve said the right thing.

“And I’m certainly not perfect. I don’t know if I’m an amazing boyfriend, I’ve never been with anyone before—”

His eyes widen.

“ _ Never?  _ How?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really had the time.” That’s true, but I’m not telling him the real reason, which is that he’s the only person I’ve ever wanted to be with, and until now, he was pretty much the only person I couldn’t have, if I wanted to.

“But you’re— you’re  _ you!  _ You’re gorgeous! I can’t believe this.” He pauses, as a Cheshire-cat grin spreads across his face. “Wait, was I your first kiss?”

I scoff, scratching the back of my neck. “Pfft,  _ no.” _

_ “ _ I  _ was!  _ That’s adorable.” He’s smiling at me, and looking at me like I’m something precious. It’s worth it, the embarrassment of that little fact being revealed, to see him look like that.

I’ve moved my hand from his face, but now he places his, softly, on the back of my neck, pulling me toward him.

“It was a bloody brilliant first kiss,” I half-whisper, and he’s so close that my lips almost brush his when I speak. “Met all my fantasies. Ten out of ten.” 

He laughs, and kisses me for the thousandth time. He lets me push him down onto the slope, the blanket I conjured earlier lying forgotten on the grass beside us. I curl my fingers through his hair, and he smiles into the kiss for a moment, before his eyes blink open and he places a hand on my chest.

“Wait. Baz, as much as I love this, literally anyone could see us right now. Can we, I don’t know, go up to our room?”

I sigh, sitting up and checking my watch.

“I probably shouldn’t. Practice starts in half an hour.”

“Don’t you have to go and get some gear from the sheds? How about I come with you? It doesn’t take half an hour to get changed, and nobody will interrupt us.”

“Are you suggesting we make out in the gear shed like we’re in a teen rom-com?”

“Yes. Are you complaining?”

“Oh, definitely not.” I scramble to my feet and help him up. He grabs my arm as we walk across the Great Lawn to the gear sheds, and I can’t stop myself from looking utterly lovestruck. He’s grinning, and he’s got grass in his hair ( _ because I pushed him against the ground while I was kissing him,  _ dear Merlin), and he looks so much like a storybook hero that it’s almost unbelievable. This can’t actually be my life.

We reach the sheds, and Simon rushes ahead of me a little to open the door. He kisses my cheek as I walk through.

“Whoever told you you’re a bad boyfriend, Simon Snow? That was downright gentlemanly.”

“Glad you think so. Because this isn’t,” he says as he closes the door and strides toward me, pushing me against one of the big store-cupboards and kissing me with just as much slightly-clumsy passion as always. 

He’s a little shorter than me, and the part of my mind that isn’t entirely occupied with  _ Simon, Simon, Simon,  _ absently observes that he’s standing on his tippy-toes. It’s cute, and that almost distracts me from how  _ hot  _ this whole situation is. Keyword there is  _ almost. _

Because his lips are a little rough (mental note: buy him lip balm) and almost bruising with their urgency. His mouth is hot, and he’s opened it a little, allowing me to slip my tongue in, and  _ oh,  _ his hands are on my waist and in my hair, and tugging gently, and he’s  _ so  _ good at this. The heat of his kiss drifts down to my jawline, which is both a blessing and a curse, because my embarrassing, soft moans as he nips at the sensitive skin of my jaw and neck are no longer muffled.

“Seriously, Simon,” I pant out as he mouths at my neck, “Who in their right mind told you you’re bad at this?”

He doesn’t respond, a little preoccupied with pushing down the collar of my shirt and sucking at the dip of my collarbone.

“Do try not to give me a hickey, Snow, I—  _ ahh—  _ won’t be able to bring myself to spell it away—”

“That’s a shame. I don’t care if you give me hickeys.”

“Sounds good to me,” I practically choke out, as I use whatever conviction and strength I have left (most of me feels a little like jelly right now) to flip us around, and I guide him across the room toward the lockers, feeling like I’m walking on air.

After crossing the room semi-successfully (considering I was walking and kissing with my eyes closed at the same time in a very untidy and small space) I push Simon against the lockers, and his shirt must have ridden up a little at the back, because he hisses against my mouth as the cold metal presses into his skin.

“That’s so goddamn freezing,” he murmurs.

“Oh, you swear like a Normal sometimes, then.” I think I have something of an upper hand, here. He’s looking up through his eyelashes at me, and he’s flushed all the way up to his ears, his hair mussed and his lips pinker than usual where I’ve been pretty much sucking on them.

He mutters something incomprehensible in response.

“What was that, Snow?”

“I said, I only swear like a Normal when we’re like this.”

“I’ll have to make that happen more often, then,” I say, as I let one of my legs slot between his. He lets out a little gasp, and it’s so ridiculous and cute and  _ sexy  _ that I have to kiss him again. His head hits the lockers with a soft thud, and I’m sure it must have hurt, but he kisses me with even more vigor than before.

He’s sliding his hands up under my shirt, and his calloused palms and fingers are warm against my cool skin. The movements of his hands are almost frantic, like he’s trying to touch all of me at once, and I totally understand the feeling. I’m fiddling with the bottom of his shirt, and he pulls away for a second and lets me pull it off in one fluid movement. We smile at each other for a moment before diving back in again, and it’s so lovely to get my lips on his neck and hands on his chest that it slips my mind for about fifteen minutes that I do actually have places to be.

“ _ Baz, _ ” he gasps, “Don’t you have—  _ fuck, Baz—  _ football practice?”

“Forget it. I don’t care.”

“Not complaining.”

We keep at it, absolutely in denial, for about another minute, before we’re rudely interrupted by the doors to the gear shed being pulled open, with a loud squeak.

“Baz? Mate, where the hell are you?” It’s Niall, and his voice echoes. We’re around the other side of a big cupboard, so he can’t see us, which is a blessing, because Simon is shirtless and covered in hickeys and I’m sure I look like just as much of a mess. We jump apart, chests heaving, and I shush him and gesture at his shirt, discarded. He nods frantically and goes to pull it on, while I run a hand through my hair and try and make it a little less unruly. My shirt is half-unbuttoned, so I fix it quickly.

“I’m back here!” I shout, and my voice is thankfully unwavering. I glance at myself in a mirror, and I look presentable enough that I could’ve been warming up rather than making out with my boyfriend. 

( _ Boyfriend.  _ I’m not going to be able to concentrate on anything at practice.)

I slip around the corner, as Simon adjusts his shirt to try and cover the dark red marks my mouth has left all over his chest and neck. It’s in vain— you can still see almost all of them.

Dev and Niall are standing in the doorway, Dev in his kit already.                                                            

When Dev sees me, he cocks an eyebrow. He’s picked up that habit from me, and I do not like it at all.

“Baz, you were supposed to be in your kit and warming up, like, five minutes ago. What’s keeping you?”

Niall holds a hand up to silence him, and he’s looking behind me.

“Dev, I think I know what’s been distracting him. Or should I say,  _ who. _ ”

Simon’s not realised that he’s very much visible in the mirror that I was looking in before.

“Hey, Snow! Come out and say hello!” Niall shouts, and Simon looks up, eyes comically wide.

Dev sniggers next to him. 

“Ha.  _ Come out.  _ Because they were definitely—”

“Thank you, Dev, that’s quite enough.”

Simon walks to stand next to me, and he looks like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dev was right, I’ll admit, it’s blatantly obvious what we were doing. We both look flustered and keyed up, and they’re probably assuming we were going  _ much  _ further than we actually were.

Simon’s working up to a bluster, the poor thing. “What— no, we weren’t, Baz was just getting ready for practice and I came with him, it’s not like we were—”

“Snow, your shirt is inside out.” Oh, hell, so it is. And it’s white, so you can see pretty much straight through it. “And, Baz, yours is buttoned wrong. And Simon’s neck is covered in hickies— good  _ lord,  _ Baz. It’s like you’re not even trying to keep this a secret.”

Niall, bless him, finally interrupts Dev’s tirade with reality.

“Alright, Dev, we can bully Baz about this later, but right now you need to go to practice. Baz, get a move on. Looks like you’re warmed up enough already.” He winks, and turns around, making to leave. “Oh, Simon. If you’re not busy, want to watch the team practise with me? I know you like to do that anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Simon says, gruffly. He turns to me, and I nod at him. He smiles. “Have a good practise.”

— 

**simon**

I follow Niall to the hill overlooking the pitch, feeling very uncomfortable now that I know my shirt is inside out. Nobody gave me a chance to fix it.

We stop near where Baz and I were before, on the grass. I pat the grass, noting that it’s not damp, before immediately sitting down and watching the team walk out onto the field. I see Dev say something to Baz, who gives him a shove and storms off, while Dev bends over in laughter.

Niall smiles at them.

“So. You and Baz, huh?” Niall says, and I suddenly feel very much like I’m being examined.  _ This is one of Baz’s best friends,  _ I suddenly remember.  _ I can’t make a bad impression on him. _

“Uh, yeah. Surprise?”  _ Good job, Simon. You said almost the most awkward possible thing. _

“Ha. Yeah, that’s just about the biggest change in relationship dynamic I’ve ever seen.”

“It really isn’t. We still bicker, like, a lot. And he still won’t let me open the window, in our room. But we just don’t actually all-out argue or fight any more. We, uh, take out our frustration in other ways.”

“Oh, so did we walk in on—”

“ _ No.  _ We just got a little distracted. And we’re trying to keep this a bit quiet, for now, just because of the Mage and the Old Families and everything.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Dev and I can just mercilessly mock Baz about it. I imagine Penny’s been doing the same to you?”

“Actually, she doesn’t know. The only people who do are you two, and I think Baz’s aunt might have connected the dots and figured it out.”

“Oh, Crowley,  _ Fiona?  _ You’re never going to live it down.”

“Nope. Never.” Niall grins, and turns back to watch Baz, whooping as he scores a goal in a drill. Baz looks up at us, and I finger-gun at him. He shakes his head, in mock disappointment, and goes back to his team. The sun starts to set, and I feel like I’ve managed to do something right.

—

**baz**

After practice finishes, and I’ve tackled Dev enough times to take out my irritation, I find Simon and we walk up to our room together. He still hasn’t fixed his shirt.

Once we’re in the privacy of our room, he flops onto his bed and groans.

“That was  _ mortifying. _ ”

“Wow, Simon. Want me to tell Bunce you used a good vocab word?” He throws a pillow at me, and I snort.

“Tosser.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. They were going to find out eventually.”

“You weren’t the one who had to talk to Niall while knowing I had just very obviously been made out with!” he says, and it’s almost a whine. He shoves his face into the pillow.

“I think it’s okay that they know. Fiona’s been giving me less shit than expected about it.” He rolls onto his side, so he’s facing me.

“Should we be trying harder to keep us quiet? Because of your parents, and the Mage, and all that.”

“I mean, maybe. But Dev and Niall and Fiona aren’t going to tell anyone. I think as long as we don’t get reckless about it, we should be in the clear.”

“I do feel a bit bad, not telling Penny. We have a no-secrets pact, and this is a pretty big secret to keep,” he says. Of course they have a no-secrets pact. Bunce and Simon are their own little Scooby Gang.

“I just think we should wait until we’ve been together a bit longer, before we tell her. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I get it. She might be pretty extra about it.” Simon reaches up to take my hand, and I sit down on the bed next to him. “But, hey, I think Niall approves.”

“That’s good. Even if they won’t let me live it down, ever.”

“Okay, I understand why we shouldn’t tell Penny for a while, now. She is  _ merciless.” _

He settles his head and shoulders in my lap, again, and I shuffle back so I can rest my head against the wall. 

“Never took you to be a cuddler, Simon.”

“Yeah, well. You’ve never been my boyfriend, have you?” I can’t help but smile, at that. 

Simon Snow is my boyfriend. I can finally think that, and it’s not just a daydream. I’m not going to be able to focus on lessons at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! there was a bit less plot in this one but WHATEVER
> 
> all the comments on part 1 were LOVELY keep em comin!!
> 
> thanks for reading see y'all next week!


	3. ebb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tags updated, rating changed to mature)  
> there's a little bit of sexy stuff in this chapter, it's by no means explicit but i thought I'd change the rating just in case  
> enjoy?

_ early December, 2015 _

**simon**

I slide a wheely-chair out from under a desk in the library, between Baz and Penny, and sit down in it heavily. I sigh exasperatedly, and when neither of them acknowledge me, I sigh again.

“What do you want, Snow?” Baz says, and it’s funny to hear him use my last name, by this point. Now, when we’re alone, he calls me Simon. Or  _ love,  _ sometimes. I called him ‘babe’ once, and he just about had a heart attack, so I’ve started using that liberally whenever possible.

“I can’t find  _ anything  _ on Nicodemus. I’ve read through so many copies of the Record that I’ve done literally no homework for two weeks, and when I close my eyes all I can see is Coven minutes.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Baz says. The hypocrite. “We’ve been reading more than you.”

“Yeah, but that’s just normal for you two  _ nerds _ ,” I say, and Penny snorts. “Have either of you found anything?”

“No mention,” Penny says, and I frown, slumping back into my chair. “Do you need help with that homework you haven’t been doing?”

“Yeah,” I groan, “Latin’s kicking my arse right now.”

“What specifically?”

“Subjunctives. The ablative absolute. Passive voice. Why did the Romans have to make life so complicated? How did they speak this every day?”

“Well, you see, the Romans didn’t actually speak the kind of Latin that we learn. They spoke a different version, called Vulgar Latin, and…”

And now I’m not going to get any help, because Penny’s starting a lecture, and Baz just looks disinterested. He’s sucking on the end of his pencil, and scribbling notes on a piece of paper, while he reads a textbook for some advanced class he takes. 

I used to resent that about him, that he’s so much better than me at everything apart from emotional vulnerability. Now, I’ve learned to appreciate the fact that my boyfriend is intelligent and great at football and damn near the most attractive person I’ve ever seen, and all those things are cool. Not anything to be jealous of. I have my thing, and he has his.

Despite this, I’m still bored. Penny’s finished her rant, and she’s back to doing her homework, so I get up from my chair and leave the library. Penny half-shouts, to ask me where I’m going, and I tell her I’m going to Ebb’s. I want a cup of tea, and it’s been a week since I’ve seen her.

It’s early evening, and almost the Christmas holidays, so as soon as I step outside I regret not wearing a jumper. The chill sets in quickly, and I rub my arms to try and stave off the goosebumps. The clouds are dark grey and heavy with rain, and the sun doesn’t shine through to give me any sort of relief from the cold. I walk quickly, my breath visible in the air. 

As I arrive at Ebb’s little house, a couple of the smaller goats run up to me, and nibble at my trouser legs when I stop to pet them. I kneel down on the cold ground, and give them all a good scratch behind the ears, making them bleat loudly. The commotion makes Ebb come outside, and she smiles when she sees me.

“Simon! Come in, it’s good to see you.” She shoos away the kids, and opens the door, and I can see the fire lit inside and the kettle just about to boil. “Cup of tea?”

“I’d love one. How are you?”

We make small talk for a little while, while the tea brews, and she tells me about how even some of the goats have been cold this week, and that she’s considering knitting the little ones jumpers.

We sit in a comfortable quiet for a while, sipping at our cups of tea and letting the warmth of the fire settle into our cold bones as the sun starts to set behind the hills. I jump a little, when Ebb sets down her cup with a  _ clink  _ and turns to face me again.

“So,” she says, “How is everyone? Penny, Agatha?”

“Penny’s fine. I haven’t really spoken to Agatha for a while, not since we broke up.”

“That was, what, a year ago now? Aren’t you still friends?”

“I mean, I guess.” I dunk a biscuit in my tea and take a bite, shrugging noncommittally. “She still sits with us for meals sometimes, but even then she usually just talks to Penny. We just ended weirdly.”

“That’s true. Do you miss her?”

“I did. I mostly just missed having a girlfriend. But it’s fine now.”

“Any new girls you’re interested in?” I laugh and swat her arm, but she persists. “Come on. You’re my only source of gossip, lad.”

“No. No girls.” I sit back in my chair, and consider my next words more carefully than I usually do. “Ebb, can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead.” She looks interested, but I can’t help but be a little nervous, even though I think I know how she’s going to react.

“There’s no girls I’m interested in. But there is, uh, there is a boy.”

Her eyes widen a little, and I scratch the back of my neck, not making eye contact. 

“Oh, Simon. Thank you for telling me.”

“It’s, uh. Yeah. A boy.”

“I get how hard it is talking about this stuff. I would know, after all.”

“Oh! Are you—”

“A lesbian? Big time.”

“Should’ve known.” She laughs, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“Does Penny know? It’s good to talk to people you’re close to, about this, like your family. I used to be able to talk like this with my brother.”

“I haven’t told her, but she’s probably figured it out. God knows, a few people have. You— you have a brother?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—”

“It’s alright.” She sighs, and I see her eyes well up, like they’re so prone to doing. “I shouldn’t really talk about this, but Nico was Stricken, years ago. He joined up with the vampires.”

_ Nico. The Visiting. Baz’s mother. ‘Nico knows.’ _

“Did— did you say his name was Nico?”

“Nicodemus, technically. Then again, my name’s Ebeneza, so I can’t talk.”

I choke on my tea. I have to tell Baz this, but I can’t just  _ leave,  _ I only just arrived! This is the first real lead we’ve had on Nicodemus, and while it might be someone different, the fact that he’s a vampire and was stricken from the Book makes it seem unlikely that this is pure coincidence. I think Ebb went to Watford with Fiona, so it’s possible she and Nicodemus knew Headmistress Pitch.

“Have you spoken to him, since?”

“Expected more of a reaction on the Ebeneza thing, but sort of. I talk to him. He doesn’t respond.”

“I’m so sorry, Ebb, really.”

She wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her  jumper, and sips at the last of her tea.

“It’s okay. It’s been a long time.” She gets up, sniffling, and hands me another biscuit, clearly trying to move on from the subject. “Anyway, is this a specific boy, you’re talking about?”

“No,” I say, but it’s thoroughly unconvincing and I’m definitely blushing, so her eyes brighten.

“Ooh, it  _ is!  _ Who is it?”

“It’s— we’re kind of trying to keep it a bit secret for a while.”

“Is it Baz?” She knows she’s right, as soon as I bury my face in my hands and groan.

“Damnit! How’d you guess?”

“Well, I’ve known you for seven and a half years, and you’ve managed to mention him almost every time you’ve seen me, so it’s not a hard conclusion to come to, since you’ve really never mentioned any other boys more than once. Christ, when did  _ that  _ happen?”

“Kissed at the end of last year. Official for about a month.”

“I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep it from me for this long. Who knows about you two?”

“Fiona. Dev. Niall.”

“Not Penny?” She looks incredulous, and it does feel a little strange that we haven’t told her yet.

“Uh, no. We’ll tell her soon enough, we just wanted to be secure in our relationship before we did, because she’ll probably give Baz the don’t-break-his-heart talk, and I don’t want to put him through that for nothing.”

“She’s a good friend, Simon. I think you should tell her.”

“We will.” I glance down at my watch, and realise it’s almost time for the drawbridge to come up. “Shit, I should go. Sorry I couldn’t stay longer.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for coming, and telling me about all this. Sorry for the emotional stuff.”

“Not like I’m not used to it,” I say, and she laughs. Just before I walk out of the door, I turn back again. “Oh, and Ebb? I do have family to talk about this with. You.”

“Aw, kid. You’re sweet.”

“So are you, Ebeneza.” I walk out, chuckling, just before she hits me in the arm, and walk a little way away. I hear the rumble of thunder, and the long-awaited rain starts to pour down. It’s very cinematic, and I would appreciate the dramatic weather, if I wasn’t getting absolutely soaked.

Something in me tells me I should drag Baz outside, so that I could kiss him in the rain (like in  _ The Notebook _ , which I watched with Agatha once), but then I remember that that’s a terrible idea because I’ll get a cold, and I actually have pressing information I need to tell him.

I break into a run, feeling the grass start to squelch under my feet, and immediately start dripping muddy water all down the stairs. I don’t trust myself to spell it away without doing stupid, like accidentally sucking all the water out of my body, so I just hope that nobody slips and make a mental note to say sorry to the caretaker.

I throw the door to our room open, and Baz is sitting at the little desk. He looks up with a start, and then raises an eyebrow when he sees me.

“Baz,” I pant, “Two  _ very  _ interesting things just happened.”

“Okay, catch your breath, and then tell me.” He puts his book down, shoving a bookmark into it and turning in his chair to face me as I wrestle my way out of my soaking shirt and put on another, pushing down a smile as he clears his throat and looks away. I throw my wet shirt onto my bed, and finally sit down on his.

(My bed’s covered in stuff right now. It’s basically just storage at this point— We spell his so it’s big enough and sleep in it together almost every night. I like it. It smells like him.)

My face is red, both from the cold and from running halfway across the school. I run a hand through my hair, so it doesn’t stick to my forehead when the change in temperature makes me sweat.

“Thing number one: I came out to Ebb.” He brightens at that, and gets up to stand facing me. 

“That’s great, love. How’d she take it?”

“Fine— actually, she came out right back at me.”

“She’s a surprising one. But, hey, I’m glad you could do that. Did you tell her about us, as well?”

“I tried not to, but she drew it out of me eventually.” He raises his eyebrows. “Okay, fine, she figured it out almost immediately.”

“Unsurprising.” He takes a step towards where I’m sitting on the bed, leans down and kisses me on the cheek, and then goes back to where was sitting at the desk. “What was the second interesting thing?”

I’m grinning, because my boyfriend is adorable, but the second thing is rather a lot less happy than the first.

“Okay, slightly more important: Nicodemus is Ebb’s _ brother. _ ” He freezes, and turns to me slowly.

“Elaborate.” His face has changed from tired to happy to stony and serious in the space of just a few minutes, and the emotional rollercoaster is a struggle to follow.

“So I was talking to her about stuff and she said something like ‘ _ it must be tough to not have family to talk about these things with’  _ and then I asked her about  _ her  _ family and—” I take a pause, and a deep breath, “—and she told me that she  _ did  _ have a brother, but he joined up with the vampires and was stricken from the Book!”

“Simon, that’s not how vampires work. You don’t  _ join up.” _

“Well, he did, somehow, and she called him Nico, and then she told me his real name, when I asked her.  _ Nicodemus Petty. _ ”

“Holy shit.” Baz almost never swears like a Normal out loud, it’s always ‘ _ oh, Crowley’  _ or ‘ _ Nicks and Slick’  _ or the occasional ‘ _ Merlin and Morgana’.  _ I can tell he’s seriously rattled.

“What do we do? We know  _ who  _ he is, but we don’t know where, or if he’ll even talk to us.”

“I think I know where we’ll find him. There’s a vampire bar, close enough to my house that we could drive there. That’s where he’ll be, if he was stricken.”

“Will they let you in?”

“Obviously they will. I’m a vampire, too, if you’d forgotten. And if they don’t, I’ll  _ make _ them.” He’s got this dangerous look behind his eyes, and he’s standing with one hand firmly on his hip, and he slams the table with the other as he speaks, and in the past I would’ve thought it was both terrifying and enraging. Now, my cheeks flush even more. “What?” he says, and the look is gone, and he’s back to being a teenage boy, rather than a powerful vampire mage.

“Nothing.”

“No, you’re blushing, why?” I mutter something under my breath, and he smirks at me. “What was that?”

“Nothing, it’s just— that was kind of hot.”

“What, me threatening to enter a bar full of vampires using force?”

“No, your angry look and the—” I slam my knee with my hand, imitating what he did. I look away, not meeting his eyes. “—the vampire strength. Hot. Yeah.”

“That’s very flattering, and we’re coming back to this later, but the matter at hand?”

“Right. Sorry. Got distracted. So, when do we go and talk to Nicodemus?” He thinks for a second, pursing his lips.

“Christmas holidays? They’re not far away.”

“Yeah. I wish I could come with you. I actually don’t know what I’m doing for the holidays this year, since I’m obviously not going to go to Agatha’s.”

“You could come and stay with me,” he suggests. “Then we could work on this.”

“Are you sure your family would have me? Don’t they all still think I hate you, apart from Fiona?”

“I know they’d warm up to you,” he says, and moves back to sitting next to me on his bed. “After all, they’d see how happy you make me.”

“Wow,” I reply, lying back on the bed and pulling him down next to me. “Hot  _ and  _ cheesy. I’m convinced you’re the perfect boyfriend.”

\---

**baz**

An hour after Simon came barrelling through our door with our first real lead on Nicodemus, I’m still sitting at my desk and trying to finish my Magickal Words essay, while Simon’s puzzling out his Latin work and occasionally asking me very amusing questions.

(Twenty minutes ago, out of nowhere, he said ‘ _ there’s no way this clause translates to ‘he died in the baths’, right?’  _ and since I had no context, I just laughed at him while he pouted and told me I was very unhelpful.)

Every so often, he sighs, and he’s been sighing louder every time, punctuated by him whacking his forehead with his book and slumping back against the pile of pillows. It’s clear he’s not going to put up with me trying to get my work done for much longer.

I hear him put his book down, crossing the room and dumping it on the bed that’s technically his, and then walking over to me, perching himself precariously on the side of my desk.

“Are you nearly done?” he says, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

“No,” I reply, “But you could probably convince me to take a break.”

He mercifully takes the hint, and hops down less-than-gracefully from the desk, before sitting across my lap.

“Time to distract you,” he says, “Since you work too hard, anyway.”

He turns his head to kiss me, not giving me time to protest that I work hard  _ enough _ . I drop my pen (or, technically, I throw it across the room), pushing the chair away from the desk and wrapping my arms around him, tugging him closer. He pulls out the hair-tie I’d pulled my hair back with to keep it out of my face while I was working, and tangles his fingers through it.

Things always escalate rather quickly with us, now more than ever.

It starts when I draw his lip between mine and bite it, which elicits a soft groan from him, and he tugs on my hair, and then he mumbles  _ “c’mon”  _ and stands up, pulling me with him. I take his hand, and for a moment, we just stand with our foreheads pressed together and lips inches apart, grinning at each other as he pulls my jumper off and places his hands firmly on my waist.

I brush my fingers down his cheek, tilting his chin up with my finger and looking into those blue eyes of his.

“Consider me distracted.”

He grins at me wolfishly, before leaning back in, an open-mouthed kiss that still leaves both of us wanting more. His leg slots between mine, and he slips his fingers under my shirt. We pull apart for a second, as he tugs it over my head, and then chuckles as he finger-combs my hair where the shirt mussed it. 

“You’re overdressed,” I say, and then he laughs again as I pull his shirt off, and even more as I practically scoop him up and then push him down onto my bed.

“Hmm, I love how strong you are,” he says suggestively, as he runs a finger down my arm.

“It’s a vampire thing.”

“I know. It’s also really hot.”

“As hot as me when I’m angry, Snow?” I say, watching him smile sheepishly and bite his lip.

“Mhm. Yep. Definitely. Now, c’mon, kiss me.” 

I do, and I can feel his heartbeat against mine, and I’m kissing every mole on his neck and he’s running his hands up and down my back and stomach before he flips us so he’s on top of me. He slips his fingers under the waistband of my trousers.

_ Oh. _

I don’t think I could form a coherent thought right now, because Simon Snow and I are shirtless in my bed, and he’s a solid weight on top of me, and I think fairly soon we’ll just be in our boxers. It’s a lot to compute. 

He looks up and sees my expression, and his eyes widen a little.

“Is this alright? Like, can I—”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine.” 

Five minutes of torturously slow undressing later, I’m back to kissing him, and I think I’ve calmed down a little about this whole situation. Simon pulled the covers over us, because despite the fact that he’s basically a human furnace, my exposed back and legs were still freezing. I murmur a spell, and the lights go out, and somehow everything feels more sexy in the dark. I let the tips of my fingers trail down his sides, and he shivers.

“That tickles.”

I grin, and do it again, running my fingers over his stomach. He retaliates by tickling my neck, and making me shriek and try, in vain, to cover my neck with my shoulders like a turtle. He giggles, and neither of us let up, and I manage to maneuver my excessively-long limbs so that I’m kneeling with my legs either side of his torso, and he’s thrashing around in peals of laughter as I jab my fingers into his sides. 

“Ha!” I exclaim, pinning his wrists above his head. “I’ve got the upper hand, now. Consider yourself defeated.”

**simon**

Okay,  _ whoa. _

This whole situation has been a lot to handle: this is probably already the furthest I’ve ever gone with someone, even though I was with Agatha for two years. And Baz is— he’s  _ gorgeous,  _ and he’s covered in hickeys which I gave him, and his hair is hanging loose around his face, and he’s got me pinned to the bed, and it kind of feels like I’m about to go off.

Except it  _ doesn’t  _ feel anything like that. Going off feels like I’m about to burn up, or blow the entire area into ashes. This feels equally hot, but in the kind of way that makes you want to bask in the warmth.

He’s breathing heavily and grinning at me, and his lips are way too far away, so I wrestle one of my arms free (as much as the slightly depraved part of my mind that thought his anger was hot wants me to keep them pinned there, wants him to hold me down and touch me and fuck— I’m getting distracted) and pull him down to me, kissing, again, the parts of his neck which I’ve already learned make him shiver and swear under his breath.

I get the desired reaction: he inhales sharply, and rolls his hips against mine, which I decide instantly is just about the best feeling I’ve ever had, and makes me even more frantic, makes me want him to touch me everywhere with those delicate-but-calloused musician’s hands of his.

Like I said, this is new territory for both of us: the most we’ve ever done is make out shirtless, and this is already at least two steps further than that, since all that’s between us is boxers (which have become uncomfortably tight, embarrassingly fast).

I start to kiss further down his collarbones, retracing the path I’ve been down so many times. He moves a little, and it takes all my self-control not to rock up against his hips. His clever fingers are creeping down the sides of my chest, and I’m trying to maintain enough coherent thought to reciprocate. I’m entirely determined to make this as good for him as it has been for me so far. 

I let my lips drag down his chest, my teeth scraping against the soft skin, kissing my way along a couple of scars on his stomach (which I’m fairly sure I might have given him. That’s not a thought to be entertaining right now), and then lower again. I fully don’t know what I’m doing, but when I make contact with the fabric of his boxers, and he actually  _ whines,  _ I think I’m doing something right.

He moves his hips, and I think he’s grinding down against me (woah, okay,  _ yes _ ) but then I realise he’s shifting away from me, sitting up, pulling away.

He’s turned his face away, covering his mouth with his hands, and I think I know what’s going on, but it takes my brain a few seconds to come into focus.

“What? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No. No. It’s just— my, my—” His voice sounds muffled, like his mouth is too full, and it breaks like he’s upset halfway through his sentence. “My fangs, they—”

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s—”

He makes a small sound of distress, and it clicks with me that it’s  _ not  _ alright.

“No, it isn’t! They could’ve—  _ I  _ could’ve hurt you!  _ Merlin,  _ I knew this would happen, why can’t I just—”

“Baz. Look at me, alright? You didn’t hurt me, I’m fine, you’re fine. It’s not like I don’t know you’re a vampire.”

He turns to face me, and he moves his shaking hands away from his face, showing his fangs, barely visible behind his lips.

“I’m sorry, what we were doing was so  _ nice  _ and I was so  _ happy,  _ I’ve wanted this for so long and I just ruined it!”

“You didn’t ruin anything. Just, just tell me what’s wrong.” He sighs.

“When I get too— too  _ into  _ something. Someone. You, I guess. Only you. My fangs, they tend to do  _ this.”  _ He gestures to his  fangs, which are startlingly white and longer than I thought they’d be. “Because you’re so alive, and I would  _ never  _ hurt you, but I’m a vampire, and you’re so close that the horrible  _ animal  _ part of my brain is telling me to feed.”

“Did you feed already today?”

“Yeah, just after I left the library, why?”

“Then it should be fine, right?”

“In theory, yeah, but I don’t want to accidentally hurt you, or not be able to stop myself, or something.”

“Look, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I’d be quite happy to just cuddle and go to bed. But if you want to— you know—”

“Have sex?”

“Yeah. Then we can. And I need you to know that I trust you, and I trust that, even if you do accidentally hurt me, that you don’t want to.”

He exhales deeply, taking my hands and crawling back under the covers.

“I want to do everything with you, Simon Snow. And I trust you, too.” 

He kisses me, soft and sweet, and I smile at him.

“Oh, and by the way? When you pinned me against the bed, you could have literally attacked me and I probably would’ve been into it.”

“That’s kinky.”

“What can I say? Everything you do is, like, ridiculously sexy.”

—

An hour later, I’m lying curled against Baz’s side, tracing patterns on the slightly-damp skin of his chest, feeling his heart beat steadily. I think he’s asleep, but I’m not sure: if he wasn’t, then I might be tickling him.

It’s just all so teen-movie. I’m drifting off next to my boyfriend after we’ve had sex for the first time, but I want to stay awake, because Baz looks absolutely gorgeous in the golden light coming from the lamp on the desk. Today, I came out to the woman who’s like my aunt, or my older sister (I’m not entirely sure how I’d define my family relationship with Ebb), semi-planned a trip to a vampire bar to start avenging Baz’s mother’s murder, and definitely failed my Latin homework. 

(One of those three things is a lot less Normal than the others.) 

Baz stirs for a moment, when my fingers pass over a bruise on from football.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, darling.”

A sleepy smile breaks across his face.

“Did you just call me ‘darling’?” he asks, looking down at me. I nod. “You should call me that more often. It’s nice.”

“Only if you’ll start calling me Simon when we’re with other people.”

“Fine. Deal.” He leans down to kiss me, and I lay my head on his chest.

“I’m glad I’m coming to your house for Christmas. Assuming your family’s alright with it.”

“I’m sure they will be. I’m glad you’re coming, too.” He settles back against the pillow, and his eyes flutter closed again. Minutes later, he’s asleep, and I’m not far from it.

I can’t believe how far we’ve come, even compared to us a year ago. Six months ago. 

I look at him, so the way he looks right now is cemented in my memory, in case anything happens to either of us with the Humdrum and Baz’s mother and everything that’s going on.

The last thing I think before I drift off into unconsciousness is this: 

_ I think I’m falling in love with him. And I like this so much better than fighting. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~whoa, we're halfway there, whoa-OA, living on a prayer~
> 
> well i mean we're halfway through the chapters but parts 4 and 6 are Long so maybe not technically halfway
> 
> simon's latin mistake is something I did last week lmaoo the words for 'wait' and 'die' are unnervingly similar in certain cases & tenses
> 
> uhh hope you enjoyed this chapter of Holly Projecting her Latin Feelings and (semi-joking) Vampire Kink on to Simon Snow
> 
> thx for reading!


	4. mordelia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tags updated)
> 
> hey! just before I start, here's some quick IMPORTANT notes on timeline: in Carry On, simon and baz become official on Christmas Eve, as I'm sure you all know, and then the events of the book's climax happen on christmas day after the humdrum comes to Pitch Manor. now, I'm trying to stick to canon, but for the purposes of Happy Christmas Boyfriends Fluff, all the humdrum/mage stuff has been pushed to boxing day, because I'm the god of this story and i'll do what i like
> 
> also, at this point, this fic kind of meets up with canon in that they're together both in this story and Carry On at this point, so? idk?
> 
> btw i wrote this listening to Oblivion by Bastille and Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur and Guillotine by Jon Bellion on repeat so that's a pretty good soundtrack if ur interested
> 
> uhh anyway enjoy

_ Christmas 2015 _

 

**simon**

 

I wake, so early in the morning on Christmas Day that it’s silent but for the creaking of the old bones of the House of Pitch, to Baz curled up in my arms. 

Our legs are tangled together, and we’re pressed so close that I can feel the steady beating of his heart against my chest. Or is that my heartbeat? At this point, I can’t tell. 

His chest is solid, a result of his various sporting endeavours, and the fabric of the t-shirt he’s wearing is warm where I’ve been lying against it all night. I shift a little, and he tucks his head under mine, still fast asleep. Warmth blooms like a flower in my chest, at the subconscious domesticity of it. I press a kiss to the top of his head, and breathe in the scent of the shampoo he used last night. It’s the same smell as always: cedar and bergamot, and something fancy that I’ve decided just smells like Baz.

I do my best to drift back to sleep like this, with the tips of my fingers tangled in the ends of Baz’s slightly damp hair, but it’s in vain. That’s something frustrating about me: once I’m awake, I’m awake.

I lay there for what feels like hours. I try to make myself enjoy this quiet time, before the dawn comes and Baz and I are swept into Christmas festivities and get no time to ourselves until we bid Baz’s parents goodnight and retire to our supposedly seperate rooms. 

(I’ve spent the last few nights sneaking down the hallway to Baz’s room. The one time Mordelia caught me, while she was going downstairs for a glass of water, Baz told her I was scared of the wraiths.)

When I hold my breath, I can hear the gentle pattering of snow against the roof. The moonlight coming in through the gap in the curtain is hitting his collarbone, and it’s making his pale body look like it’s carved from marble. His breathing is so light that he  _ could _ be a statue, for how little he’s moving. It terrifies me a bit, how you can hardly see that he’s alive while he sleeps.

After a while, my arm goes numb where Baz is lying on it, so I slowly move it out from under him. He stirs for a moment.

“Hmm?” he says, a drowsy mumble. He screws up his face adorably against the moonlight.

“I was just moving, go back to sleep, babe.” I’m whispering, and even I can hear the smile in my voice.

He curls around me again, laying his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his waist, and close my eyes.

—

**baz**

 

It’s not long before I wake again. This time, the sight before my eyes is nowhere near as sweet as what I saw last night. 

Simon’s shaking in my arms, a fine bead of sweat sticking some of his hair to his forehead. His eyes are screwed tightly closed, and he keeps breathing so fast that his shoulders shake and then holding a breath for so long that he gasps. He’s gripping onto my arm, every muscle in his body so tense that I’m sure it must be painful. It takes me a few moments to fully drag myself from unconsciousness, and I shift so I can smooth his hair back and stroke his back. 

We’ve been through this before, even when we weren’t a couple. I’d slip into our room while he was sleeping, and see him shaking, with tears dampening his pillow, and I would have to swallow down my urge to go to him and wake him up and talk him through whatever it was that troubled him that night. Now I know that it’s usually the Humdrum who causes him to sometimes keep himself from sleeping— he dreams of the time he and Penny were taken by him, and that it ends much worse than it actually did.

I asked him, a while ago, what I should do in a situation like this. 

“ _ Unless I’m literally screaming,”  _ he told me, “ _ try not to wake me up, because I’ll be super disoriented. Just talk to me. I can hear you. And, I don’t know, pat my hair or something. Whatever you do will make it better.”  _

So that’s what I do. I sit up, and he curls up into a ball in the absence of my torso for him to cling to. He chokes out a sob, and it takes everything I have not to wake him.

This isn’t as bad as it’s been before. Once or twice, I have had to wake him up, because he’s been screaming or shouting or glowing so brightly that it’s clear he’s about to go off and potentially destroy our entire floor of Mummers House. Then, once he’s calmed down a little, had a glass of water and usually changed clothes (he sweats a lot when he’s having a nightmare), I’ll hold him as close to me as I can and hear his breathing grow more even.

He’s whispering something unintelligible, and I take to running a gentle hand down his arm, trying to make him loosen the vice-like grip he has on his body. I run my fingers through his hair, and he finally says something I can understand.

“ _ Baz,”  _ he says, “Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

This time, I’m the one holding back tears.

“It’s alright, Simon,” I whisper, my voice wavering, “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re okay, I’m okay, it isn’t real.”

A halo of golden light fades into existence around him, and immediately I’m more on edge. That means it’s worse than I thought— his magic being visible in the air around him means he’s worked up and maybe going to go off if I don’t wake him up.

_ Crowley, I wish this happened in better circumstances,  _ I think. While his magic showing like this is almost always a bad sign, he looks absolutely beautiful like this. The shimmering haze of magic in the air is shining on his damp skin, and he looks like he’s glowing, like something holy.

Christ, I’m cheesy. Now is not the time to get distracted.

I speak a little louder, now, because I don’t really know how to wake him up gently. I pat his shoulder a little awkwardly, not sure if what I’m doing is right.

“ _ Simon.  _ Wake up, love, please, it’s okay.”

His eyes blink open, and for a moment the light grows so bright that I have to look away. He sits up, still in panic mode, and scrabbles away from me, sitting bolt upright on the other side of my queen-sized bed. His eyes are wide, and he’s breathing heavily, but I can literally see him get his bearings, as the light fades from around him. The air still wavers a little, like concrete in midsummer, but I think he’s not going to go off. Mercifully.

He looks at me, and his shoulders slump. He averts his eyes.

I think I look slightly terrified— I’m not. I’m just relieved that he’s awake now.

“Baz. Hey.” He sounds breathless. He rubs his arms, which are covered in goosebumps from being exposed to the cold air. He’s still not looking me in the eye. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Why’re you sorry?”

“I woke you up. And you had to deal with—” He gestures at himself. “—this. Go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine, love. Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming about? It sounded pretty bad, from what you were saying.”

“Oh, shit, was I talking? What did I say?” He’s pulled one of his knees up to his chest, trying to cover as much of himself with the duvet as he can. I want to sit next to him and wrap him up in my arms, but I’m letting him make the move toward me. Sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched, just after he’s been woken up like this.

“Couldn’t understand most of it. Heard my name. You were asking me not to leave.”

His face falls. He glances at me almost furtively, through his lashes, and swallows hard.

“Look, can we— can we talk about it in the morning? I’m really tired.” 

“Of course.” I take a deep breath, and lay down, pulling the cover over my shoulders. I’m in a shirt, one of his (it smells like him, and it’s soft from being worn, and I kind of love it) but I’m still freezing. It’s even colder, without him pressed against me, and I miss his warmth. He’s still lying with his eyes open, on his back, body stiff. 

I so badly want to go to him. Pull him close. I think I can guess that his dream involved losing me, in some way, and I think it would help, if I was there with him.

“Can I—”

“ _ Please,”  _ he says, and practically dives over to me. I can’t help but laugh, even as he lands heavily on my shoulder, and he smiles at me, a dopey grin that shows how tired he is.

I’m glad he’s a little less shaken now, and it makes me immensely happy that he was so enthusiastic about coming to me, even if it did hurt my shoulder quite a lot.

“You’ll talk to me about this in the morning? I don’t want there to be a weight on your mind.”

“Yeah, I will. Thank you for waking me.”

“It’s okay. I lo—” I cut myself off, right before I say  _ I love you.  _ It almost slipped out. It felt natural. That would’ve been a big mistake. We’ve only been a thing for five months (technically, we’ve only been official for less than two) and he’s never even said anything along those lines. I don’t think we’re at that stage yet, but  _ still— _

“You what?” he says, settling himself and wrapping the covers around both of us.

“Nothing. Goodnight.” He reaches up, to press a kiss to my cheek, and then promptly falls asleep, his head a comfortable weight in the centre of my chest. It’s almost like he’s listening to the slow pulse of my heart.

Okay, time for an emotional crisis.

I’ve known for years that I love him, ever since I realised that I was making myself feel awful every time I did something to hurt him.

I don’t know if he ever loved Wellbelove. He was certainly with her for quite a long time, but I don’t think she was ever even fully interested in him that way. I also don’t know if he loves me.

I’ve almost started believing the fact that he even  _ likes  _ me. I spent so many years pining in silence (and writing terrible romantic angsty poetry that nobody will ever read) that it’s taken a while for my brain to compute that I can kiss him and wake up next to him pretty much whenever I want. 

But it has been five months. Plenty of couples say those big three words after far less time than that. And it’s not like we haven’t  _ loved  _ each other, in the physical sense of the word, but that’s all very different to actually being in love.

We’ve kind of been a whirlwind of a thing. Despite our efforts, we’ve not got a great track record of keeping this secret (since Fiona, Dev, Niall and Ebb all know about us), and when we’re alone together we can hardly keep our hands off each other, to the point that I once walked into class not knowing I had a hickey, and had to pass it off as a bruise. 

(I told them I got hit by a ball someone threw. I don’t know why anyone believes anything I say.)

I’m tired, and I’m probably being a bit irrational and overthinking all this. I close my eyes, and focus on Simon’s steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, deep in a much more peaceful sleep.

_ His hair smells like my shampoo,  _ I think, and the warmth that thought brings curls in my chest. 

I drift off.

— 

**simon**

 

Christmas Day at Pitch Manor is somehow simultaneously exactly what I expected and nothing like what I expected.

I wake up to a sweet, lingering kiss and a whispered ‘ _ Merry Christmas, Simon’  _ which rapidly turns into a half-hour-long makeout session which makes us late for breakfast.

When we do go downstairs, both of us looking a rumpled mess, breakfast is lovely. Their maid (I think Vera’s a maid?) has prepared croissants, which are warm and buttery and soft and utterly delightful. I chat with one of Baz’s little sisters, Morgana, about what she asked for, and another one of his sisters, Mordelia, asks me if I told Father Christmas that I would be staying with them. 

(Brief tangent: The names of the Grimm children are absolutely ridiculous. They’ve got vampire-witch-villain names. Mordelia, Matilda and Morgana are absolutely harmless, though I can’t speak for baby Helena. Also, all of them end in  _ -a,  _ and they don’t have more-normal middle names that they can use like Baz does. My cliche, storybook name has nothing on them.)

Then, we move to the living room, where a six-foot Christmas tree stands covered in shimmering silver baubles and ice that’s been spelled so it always sparkles like it’s about to melt. I’ll admit, they all make a pretty picture: a family of dark-haired, rosy-cheeked kids and smiling parents, with Baz and I sitting at the side on the settee, tragically with a little space between us.

Someone starts playing  _ All I Want For Christmas Is You,  _ and while the girls jump up and down and sing along, I mouth the words, pointing at Baz when the chorus comes. He grins, with all his teeth, and it’s clear that he’s fed at some point this morning, because he blushes and punches me lightly in the arm.

He seems to have moved on from what happened last night. I promised him I would tell him why I was, in my sleep, crying and begging him not to leave me. And I will. But not this morning, while we’re all so happy.

I struggled to get Baz a gift, since I never get the chance to go to the shops, but when Penny got to go out with her parents on a long weekend near the end of term, I asked her to get something.

I wrapped it, hastily, in a Normal newspaper I found somewhere, and then drew moustaches, Santa hats and angry eyebrows on every face I could find in the articles. I figured I did my best.

When I hand it to him, a little sheepishly, he snorts. He shows the drawings I did to his sisters, and they laugh raucously, so I think I have their approval.

He opens it, and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not much,” I say, “But we thought you’d like it. It’s from both Penny and me.” 

Penny found some chocolate in a sweet shop that had maple syrup and sea salt in it, and she told me she bought it because ‘ _ Everyone likes chocolate, Simon, and it’s just fancy enough for Baz’s undoubtedly posh tastes.’  _

“Thanks,” he says, “It looks lovely.”

“I’ve got you something else, as well, but it’s not wrapped, so I’ll give it to you upstairs later.” It takes me a few seconds to realise just how dirty that sounded, and I bury my face in my hands, glad I said it fairly quietly and that Baz’s parents and sisters are being very loud. “Wait. I don’t mean it like that. No. Seriously. I meant that literally.”

Baz is laughing loudly, his shoulders shaking.

“Oh,  _ will  _ you now?”

“ _ Sto-op,” _ I say, punching him in the arm.

“The look on your face right now, honestly. I look forward to  _ whatever  _ it is.”

A few minutes of giggling later, he hands me a gift wrapped in shiny, gold wrapping paper, and then he starts laughing again when I open it.

“Snow, you’re opening that like my sisters do. You don’t actually have to absolutely annihilate the paper.”

“I know, but it’s more fun if I do!”

—

 A few hours later, we walk through the door of his room, both dripping wet from having snowballs thrown at us from point-blank range. Baz’s sisters ganged up on us, for a while, before I persuaded them to let me help them hit Baz. We were very successful, but he got in a few good hits, and we’re soaked to the skin and shivering. 

“I can’t believe this betrayal,” he says, “How  _ could  _ you?”

He’s hopping up and down, trying to pull off his drenched jeans, and when I give him a shove, he almost topples over. 

He glares at me, but it’s ineffective, because I can see that he’s holding back a smile. 

“Crowley, it’s cold,” I say, grabbing the jumper Baz got me from the bed and tugging it on. 

“How do you think I feel? I don’t have body heat.”

“Do you want to just get in bed? Then you can have some of  _ my  _ body heat.”

“Oh, absolutely. Wait, did you say before that you got me something else?”

I rummage around in my duffle bag while he pulls on some joggers  and a t-shirt (it’s one of mine, and since he’s much less broad-shouldered than me, the neckline has slipped off his shoulder. It’s doing things to me) and crawls under the duvet cover, shivering. When I find what I’m looking for, I dash over and sit next to him. He slides up next to me, tucking his shoulder under my arm, and intertwining our legs. Normally he’s not this cuddly, but I’m not complaining.

“This is nice.”

“Shut up. You’re a furnace, and it’s your sacred duty as my boyfriend to give me your warmth.” His voice is muffled, because half of his face is squished against my torso. I hand him his gift, and he breaks into even more laughter.

“These are  _ incredible,  _ Snow. How did you even get these?”

“I found them online, over the summer, when I got to use a library computer on a day out from the home. I  _ had _ to buy them.”

The gift he’s so enthused about is a set of small enamel pins. There’s four of them, two sets of two, and when I saw them I immediately thought of him. They’ve got little drawings of fangs, a cowboy hat, a moon and a sun on them, with the words  _ ‘vampire bf’, ‘cowboy bf’, ‘moon gay’  _ and ‘ _ sun bi’.  _ I don’t think it’s boastful of me to admit that they’re perfect for us.

“Can you see why I didn’t give these to you downstairs, with your parents?”

“Yes, I get it. They’re  _ adorable.” _

“I know it’s kind of for both of us, but whatever. I’m glad you like them.”

“Thank you, Simon. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, babe.” He still gets flustered when I call him that, and I intend to take full advantage of it. I lean down and kiss him, and he returns it with vigor, moving so he’s practically sitting on my lap. He slips his hands under my jumper, and I have to break the kiss to let out a frankly embarrassing squeak of surprise.

“Baz, your hands are so bloody cold,” I whisper against his lips.

“Hush,” he says, and I listen to him. I go right back to trying to make him lose the constant, well-maintained composure he always has.

I’ve got my fingers tangled in his hair, and one of my hands on his waist, and my lips on his neck, when Mordelia pushes the door to his room open.

“Baz? I just wanted to say goodnight— oh.”

“ _ Mordelia!”  _ he hisses, scrambling away from me. I can’t really do anything but sit there with my eyes wide, breathing heavily. “Next time,  _ knock!” _

“Sorry, sorry, I’m leaving!” She practically sprints out of the room, and Baz looks at me apologetically.

“I should go and talk to her. I don’t want her to tell Daphne or my father.”

“Yeah, yeah, go. I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiles, places a final kiss on my cheek, and walks out, straightening his t-shirt (which I’d almost had off, before we were rudely interrupted) and sighing dramatically. As he closes the door, I hear him call after her.

I like Mordelia, I do. She’s funny, and I can tell that Baz is rubbing off on her, because she was more than happy to conspire with me in the snowball fight. However, she has the worst possible timing. She’s even worse than Penny, who’s almost walked in on us several times, but she at least has the courtesy to knock before strolling into our room at school. 

It’s fifteen minutes before Baz returns, and the mood is completely killed. However, he’s brought some leftover Christmas pudding from dinner with him, so I guess I don’t mind that he had to go.

“Everything alright, now?”

“Yeah. She’s promised not to tell anyone. She’ll probably forget it even happened, what with everything exciting happening today. She’s only seven, after all.”

“She’s a good kid.” Baz climbs back into bed next to me and hands me a spoon, keeping another for himself. “Thanks for the pudding.”

“Well, I know it’s easier to talk to you after you’ve eaten.”

“You really do know me. What did you want to talk about?”

“The dream. Last night. I think it might help, to talk about it.”

“Baz, I…” I trail off, eating some more of the pudding while I collect my thoughts. “It’s not the first time I’ve had that dream, or one like it. And— and the reason I said your name is ‘cause I was dreaming that— that when the Humdrum took Penny and I last year, it was you with me, not her. And it all went differently, and I went off, but it wasn’t like I was  _ me,  _ it was like I was watching it all unfold in front of me, and— and I couldn’t save you.”

He’s quiet, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to keep talking.

“And, and, sometimes it’s something similar, except it’s back in, like, fifth year, and we’re fighting about something, and I can’t stop myself from hurting you. And it just kills me, every time, that I ever  _ wanted  _ to hurt you.”

“I hate that, too. I mean, I liked you for so many years, and I don’t know why I had to act like such an absolute tosser all the time. It’s my fault that you didn’t like me. I was awful.”

“I wish we’d sat down, and, like, had a rational conversation. I think the first time we actually spoke to each other in a way that  _ wasn’t  _ hostile we ended up making out, so…”

He laughs, and some of the tension in the air breaks.

“Look, Simon,” he starts, “You know that you can talk to me about these dreams you’re having. And you can talk to Penny. And Ebb, I’m guessing. You don’t have to bottle it up.”

“I know. It just always reminds me of how close we came to never having  _ this. _ ” I pull his hand to my lips, and kiss his hand, just below his knuckles, and he smiles at me.

“But we  _ do  _ have this. And I’m so glad.”

Just as I lean down to kiss him again, he grabs his wand from the dresser and casts a quick  **No entry!** on the door to his room.

“We are  _ not  _ getting interrupted by one of my sisters again.”

 

**baz**

 

We’ve gone back to exactly how we were sitting before Mordelia walked in on us, so I’m straddling his lap, and he’s kissing me senseless. By now, the room has warmed up a bit, and it doesn’t make me flinch when he pulls my shirt off in one swift movement. It’s sometimes a little startling, how quickly the mood between us can shift from vulnerable honesty to laughter to heat, but it doesn’t take me long to reciprocate, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his collarbone.

He’s quieter than usual, but I think he’s whispering something over and over under his breath, so I pull away briefly. He lets out a very uncharacteristic whine of complaint, which makes me laugh.

“Why’d you stop?”

“What were you whispering?”

He freezes for a second. The emotional journey of surprised to sheepish to bashful to adoring that his facial expression shows is a gift to watch, and it makes me anticipate what he’s going to say even more.

“I love you,” he says, and my heart is torn between stopping short and jumping for joy. 

A startled ‘ _ oh’  _ escapes my lips, and his face falls just the slightest bit, and I think he’s getting the wrong idea, so I pull him in until our foreheads are touching and he can feel my lips move when I speak. His eyes close.

“I love you, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So much.”

“I love you. I love you.”

He kisses me again, after what feels like a lifetime without his lips on mine, and then I’m pushing him against the mattress and remembering to cast a muffling spell on the door (which I make sure to do before he makes me lose all ability to speak coherently, because if you honestly think I could cast a decent spell with Simon on me or  _ in  _ me, you’re dead wrong), and we’re whispering ‘ _ I love you’ _ s against each other’s necks and chests and thighs and  _ everywhere. _

I think I want to live in this moment forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!
> 
> yeah when i said parts 4 and 6 were long i wasn't lying although part 6 is 1,500 words longer than this i'm so proud of myself
> 
> also the fic is completely written now and idk what i'm meant to do with my life
> 
> mmkay bye see yall next week with some ACTUAL PLOT OMG


	5. agatha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tags updated)
> 
> tw (spoiler): this chapter contains a couple of canonical character deaths and canon-typical violence bc it describes the events of the climax of Carry On (the white chapel Showdown). i didn't think it warranted an archive warning because it's canonical but i thought i'd include this here! stay safe all!
> 
> finally some plot! 'Holly stop making this all about make-outs' challenge 2k19 SUCCESSFUL!

_ December 26th, 2015 _

**simon**

I’m flying over the twinkling lights of towns and cities, as they carry on with their Christmas celebrations mercifully unaware of me, and I still can’t fully comprehend anything that’s happening, but I’d say my wings and the extreme possibility of me losing focus and falling to my death are slightly higher on my short-term priority list.

It’s Boxing Day. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was probably throwing snowballs at Baz and then letting him curl up in my arms to get warm afterwards. Right now, I’m colder than I’ve ever been, and I think I’m laughing maniacally, and obviously he’s not here. 

We’ve known that the Humdrum looks like a kid version of me for ages. I’ve come to terms with that. But about twenty minutes ago, we figured out that the Humdrum is literally what’s left when I’m done. When I go off, it rips holes in the magical atmosphere. That’s what the dead spots are. And the Humdrum is, in my understanding, basically the first ever time that happened, in a human form. Somehow. Penny would be able to explain this better, but she isn’t here, either.

She wanted to leave. Run away. And oh, Merlin, I was so tempted. Baz wanted to go numpty hunting. Something to do with his mother. But this is priority number one. If I can tell the Mage this, and he doesn’t decide that killing me is the only way to solve it,  _ then  _ I’ll make good on my promise to help him.

This feels like it’s the end. The final showdown. I don’t feel good about this trip to Watford— the Mage always said that the holidays were auspicious, and I wouldn’t put it past him to be performing some kind of ritual. I somehow expected this to come at the end of eighth year, or even in the future, once I’ve lived my life a little. It’s far too soon. 

\--

**baz**

Penny and I pull into Watford, and I park the car rather badly next to the Mage’s Jeep, and another smarter car. She inhales sharply.

 “Nicks and Slick,” she says, “That’s Agatha’s car.”

“ _ Agatha’s  _ here?”

“Yeah, oh, Merlin. We need to hurry.”

As we step out of the car, at first glance, everything seems normal. A layer of snow covers the ground, and it’s freezing cold and so still that the world feels like it’s holding its breath.

It’s actually quite beautiful, considering that this might be the end of the World of Mages if we don’t succeed.

Then, I hear a bang from the White Chapel, so loud that Penny jumps, and my vampire hearing makes me wince. An unnatural, red glow emanates from the Chapel’s windows, and Watford suddenly seems a lot less peaceful and a lot more  _ terrifying and hellish. _

I can feel the power of the spells being cast from here. It’s got to be some seriously powerful mages. I’m guessing one of them is the Mage, and the only other person who is likely to be here and is powerful enough to have this effect is the goatherd, Ebb.

Suddenly, there’s movement at the base of the Chapel, and Agatha comes running at us, sprinting through the snow like an athlete, her golden hair looking almost silver as the white of the snow and the moonlight shines on it. She skids to a stop next to us, panting, with tears streaming down her cheeks

“Oh, God, Penny, Baz. You have to go,” Agatha says, “It’s the Mage, he tried to take my power, and—”

“Slow down, tell us what happened.”

We’re walking quickly to the White Chapel, as the choking, ozone smell of Simon’s magic grows ever-stronger, and Penelope grills Agatha.

“So, you’re saying he tried to take your magic?”

“Yeah, I think, he said ‘ _ you’ll do,’  _ and then Ebb came and told me to run. She cast  **Run for your life** . And I think— I think he tried to take hers, instead. She was insanely powerful.”

“So— so the Mage has Ebb’s magic?”

“I told you, I don’t know if he managed it, but we have to  _ leave.  _ We don’t know what he’s going to do.”

I turn, then. “We’re not leaving without Simon.”

The glow coming from the White Chapel grows brighter, and I hear glass shatter, and feel the dry, sucking sensation I’ve come to know far too well. It’s accompanied by Simon’s fire-and-brimstone magic becoming even stronger, rolling over us like a wave, and both Agatha and Penny pitch forward like they’re going to collapse. We’re inside the Chapel, now, and the brightest light I’ve ever seen in my life keeps flickering, on and off, being replaced by darkness so impenetrable that my eyes can’t adjust. There’s some kind of trapdoor, and I can hear the Mage shouting, and Simon saying something, and I know that’s where we need to be.

“He’s here. We need to go.” Agatha says, almost hysterically. “Come  _ on. _ ”

“You go, Agatha, we have to stay. How do we get up there? There’s no ladder, but we need to get through that door—” 

“I think I have a way.” I grab Penny by the waist, and she looks at me quizzically. “Bunce? Hang on to me. Godspeed, Wellbelove.” I take a deep breath, and focus all the magic I have, all the eloquence and skill I’ve been learning for the past seven and a half years. “ **_On love’s light wings!_ ** ”

I’m not a religious person, but in that moment I thank every God there is that that spell works. It’s never worked for me before, no matter how hard I’ve tried. To cast  **On love’s light wings!** , you have to understand the Great Vowel Shift, and be absolutely, utterly and stupidly in love. 

I’ve been stupidly in love with Simon for years. I’m sure it’s somehow intensified, since we’ve actually been together. Maybe, now, finally, the love I have for him has hit some kind of benchmark. Magic is decidedly very weird.

We manage to make it through the little hatch, just as a wave of  _ something  _ in the magical atmosphere rolls over us again, and I’m so glad it wasn’t two seconds earlier, because I probably wouldn’t have been able to maintain the spell. I scramble up from where I landed ungracefully, and I cover my ears on instinct, because there’s a roar and a high-pitched droning noise and Simon’s holding onto what looks like remarkably solid thin air and the Mage is scrabbling and saying something I can’t hear.

Penny clutches my arm, and I think she might be about to pass out from the noise and the smell and the magic, and I think Ebb the goatherd is lying dead on the floor. Every part of me is screaming that I should sink to the floor, but then the noise stops, abruptly, and my ears pop, and the light is gone and the dark is gone, and Simon is lying on the floor, and I think he just killed the Humdrum.

He’s incredible. I love him. And he isn’t moving.

**simon**

I almost can’t move my limbs, and I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been.

I think all the energy in my body went out with my magic. My eyes are open, but I can’t focus them, and I can hear Baz screaming and the Mage shouting at everyone, but it sounds like I’m hearing it all through a wall.

Then the Mage starts hitting me. He’s shaking my shoulders and beating on the leathery wings that I apparently still have, and every thump of a fist on my skin makes me come to my senses enough to lift an arm and push him away. With my blurry eyes, I see Baz move, and he’s going to kill the Mage, and as much as I think I’m finally starting to understand all this, I can’t let that happen. 

_ I’m _ saying something, now. I’m telling them to stop, I don’t know who: Baz, the Mage, me.

He wants my magic. He’s got his wand pointed at my chest. I can feel it digging into me as I try to pull myself up.

It’s all gone. I don’t have anything left to give him. I think that somehow he’s the reason I am this way. He took my summers, and my ability to spend time doing things I enjoyed, when I was younger. He’s taken my sense of identity, now that he’s told me I’m not the Chosen One. Arguing about him almost took Baz, today. I wouldn’t give him anything else even if I could.

Nobody’s listening to me. I’m saying I don’t have any magic left. I make desperate eye contact with Penny, who’s shouting at them, too. She raises her hand, and it’s shaking harder than I’ve ever seen, and her words finally ring clear.

‘ **Simon says!** ’

I didn’t know that was a spell. I think the next words I say might be the last time I ever use magic.

‘ **Stop it!** ’ I practically scream the words, and they all finally,  _ finally  _ hear me. ‘ **Stop hurting me!** ’

The Mage falls back against Baz, whose eyes widen. He drops him, not gently, to the floor, and I kneel over him, numbly searching for a pulse. He doesn’t have one. Somehow.

“I… I think he’s dead. Penny! I think I killed him. Oh God.” 

I’m bent double and sobbing, but no tears are coming out. I think my body’s had too much bullshit happen to it today for there to be literally any liquid in me. Penny crawls over to me, and I can hear her telling me it’s okay.

I tell her it’s not, and she doesn’t try to disagree. Baz tries to tell me it technically wasn’t my fault. And I know that. But I said the words. I saw the look on his face, the way the light went out of his eyes and the strength left his limbs in a rush, all at once. Penny might have provided the magic, but it was me who killed him.

—

I’ve lost two parental figures in less than half an hour. They’re both still in the room, preservation spells cast over them, and nobody’s told us where we should go. Ebb is lying on the floor, with her blood staining the incense-soaked floorboards, and if I squint I can tell myself that she’s a Renaissance painting. The Mage is crumpled in a heap where Baz dropped him. There’s nowhere for me to look that doesn’t make me want to scream or cry or pass out. Baz and Penny are kneeling in front of me. They help me up, and she calls her mother, and then we sit in a heap in the corner of the room. 

As the adults traipse through the room, I shut my eyes so tightly that I see flashes of light, and then open them again when I start seeing their pale faces in the darkness behind my eyelids. I talk softly to one of them, Penny or Baz or some adult who doesn’t know what to do with me, and then I can’t handle any more light so I close my eyes and the cycle repeats until the sun rises and I go to the Bunce’s house with Penny, but not without clinging to Baz for so long that my arms start to hurt. He kisses me gently and sweetly, out of sight of the others.

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” he says, “And the day after that, and the day after that, until you don’t need me anymore, or you stop wanting me there.”

“I don’t know how long we’ll need you for, love,” I manage, “But I can promise you I’ll never stop  _ wanting  _ you.” My tone’s a weak attempt at flirting. Just to try and get some normalcy. He almost smiles. I try to smile, too, but my lips are so dry and cracked that it makes them bleed, and then I can’t kiss him goodbye. I’m my own worst enemy.

It’s not ‘til I’m in the car, with Penny curled up at my side, asleep with my head in her lap, that I drink some water and finally start to cry.

—

A few days later, as the aftermath of everything is finally starting to look like it’ll settle, I’m sitting with Baz and Penny, and playing with the shitty phone I just acquired. I’ve gotten the numbers of all the people I care about from Penny— Agatha, Mr and Mrs Wellbelove, Mitali and Martin Bunce, Dev, Niall, Gareth & Rhys, and a couple of others, just in case I ever need to contact them. The only numbers I really care about having are hers and Baz’s.

I’m midway through writing a text to Agatha. Just to check in, see if she’s okay. Apologise for everything, probably. I don’t know how to string my words together properly, and my hands are shaking. They’ve hardly stopped shaking since the Humdrum attacked Pitch Manor on Boxing Day morning.

God. It’s only New Years’ Eve, and yet that idyllic Christmas Day feels like it was a different lifetime. After all, the reason I was at Pitch Manor in the first place was to dig around in a thirteen-year-old unsolved murder, and doing so was probably the reason that the other shoe dropped so abruptly.

I guess it kind of  _ is  _ a different lifetime. After all, on that day, I had magic, no matter how unusable and impractical it was. On that day, I didn’t know for sure that the Mage killed Baz’s mother, and on that day, Ebb was still alive.

The thought makes the sobs I’ve hardly been able to stop for the last few days rise up in my throat again, and my eyes sting. I take in a deep, ragged breath, and lean against Baz’s arm. Penny sighs, and settles in beside me, and Baz rests his head on top of mine. I let my phone fall to the floor, and try to focus on the here and now. I’ve got my boyfriend and my best friend with me, two comforting presences at my side.

Penny and Baz are probably the only reason that I’m functional right now. They’ve been incredible. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay them.

I voiced that thought to Baz, yesterday, and he replied by sighing and saying ‘ _ We never expected you to, Simon. And, after all, you somehow fixed my leg, so it’s only right that we help you heal, too.” _

I think one day, I’ll heal from this. Right now, my goal is just surviving it.

I pick up my phone from the floor, and type out the best thing I can think of.

I show it to Penny, and she nods her approval.

“That’s nice, Simon. She’ll appreciate it, even if she doesn’t reply.” I hit send.

_ to: Agatha Wellbelove (2.58 pm) _

_ hey, agatha, it’s simon. i just wanted to make sure you’re okay. and to apologise. you never should’ve had to deal with all of this, and I’m so unbelievably sorry that you got dragged into it. i’d 100% understand if you don’t reply, but i want you to know that i hope you’re doing alright, and that i’m thinking of you. <3 _

Penny smiles at me, and I give her my best effort at a grin. She settles herself back against my side (both of our body weight is now leaning on Baz’s shoulder, but he’s not complaining. I love him), and we both jump when my text tone goes off a couple of minutes later.

_ from; Agatha Wellbelove (3.03 pm) _

_ Thanks, Simon. I’m doing alright. I hope you are, too. I’m so sorry about Ebb. I hope she knows, wherever she is, that I’m forever grateful to her. _

I send her back a heart, and Penny disentangles herself from me. 

“Cup of tea?” she says. Legend.

“I’d love one,” says Baz, and I nod at her. 

_ from: Agatha Wellbelove (3.05 pm) _

_ I do have one question, though _

_ Are Penny and Baz together? _

I can’t help but snort. Baz leans over and reads the text, and starts laughing too.

“Why would she think that? Have I not been obviously gay, and Penny obviously in love with that American lad, for the past few years that she’s actually known us?” he says, and  _ God,  _ it feels good to laugh.

Penny wanders back in, and raises her eyebrows. It’s a habit she’s picked up from Baz.

“Crowley, Bunce, Wellbelove thinks we’re a couple.” Penny starts laughing, too.

“Why in God’s name…”

“I don’t know!”

_ to: Agatha Wellbelove (3.06 pm) _

_ uhhh no why _

_ from: Agatha Wellbelove (3.06 pm) _

_ He used on love’s light wings when he went up to the white chapel with Penny, just put two and two together?? _

Just then, the kettle boils, and Penny leaves again, mercifully, seeing as even  _ she  _ doesn’t know that Baz used  **On love’s light wings** because of me. Although, I would have thought she’d have figured it out. Penny’s usually incredibly observant.

“Should we tell her?” I whisper to Baz, and he nods his assent.

“She’d figure it out eventually. Tell her it’s a secret, though.”

_ to: Agatha Wellbelove (3.08 pm) _

_ actually uhh  _

_ baz and i are together but shhhshsh it’s a secret _

_ from: Agatha Wellbelove (3.08 pm) _

_ What???? Omg _

_ what what what what when how why  _

_ Oh how the turn tables _

Baz and I read her rapid texts as they come in, giggling madly, when suddenly everything comes crashing back in of its own accord, and my breath hitches. Baz turns to look at me.

“What is it?”

“It just… suddenly feels very wrong to be gossiping with Agatha, what with all this happening, I don’t know—”

“An awful situation doesn’t mean we can’t be happy sometimes, love. It’s not like it’s disgracing anyone’s memory or anything for us to laugh. Nobody would want us to be sad forever because we feel bad about letting ourselves be happy.”

“You’re right, of course,” I say taking his hands. He always is.

“You know it. But, hey, do you think we should think about telling Bunce?”

“Soon. When the time is right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok that's like all the angst over
> 
> my goal with the part just after simon kills the Humdrum was to make his narration and perspective seem suddenly and startlingly sadder and more confusing, in comparison to how happy he was just the day before? tell me what yall think did it work?
> 
> next week's epilogue is a whopper y'all get excited
> 
> agatha is really hard to write.
> 
> hope you enjoyed! i love all your comments SO much! see you next week for the grand finale!


	6. penelope - epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (final tag update)
> 
> here we are folks! this one's a doozy.
> 
> quick note: pay a little bit of attention to the dates and POVs in this chapter bc they change quite a lot and it'll be confusing if you don't xx

_ Early February, 2016 _

**simon**

Penelope’s mum lets Baz visit for the weekends, now that school’s been back in for a couple of months.

I’ve been staying with her. Neither of us could bear to go back to school, but Baz couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. I think he wanted to close the Watford chapter of his life the way he’d always intended, rather than cutting it off as abruptly and tragically as we did.

It’s been nice. I’ve been talking to Penny enough to bring back some sense of normalcy, and also spending a lot of time not talking at all. Penny and I have baked biscuits and tarts, and one disastrous quiche. I had a go at painting her nails once. It’s fun, but it feels like playing at being Normal. Like this is a free trial of the rest of my life.

I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that  _ The Mage killed Natasha Pitch.  _ Well, not directly, I guess. He effectively hired vampire mercenaries, which is almost too ridiculous for me to believe, but the facts are there. I think I’ve known there was something off about him, but denied it, for far too long. 

He manipulated and used me, and I see that now, but despite everything, I find myself struggling to break through the wall of denial and almost hero-worship I’ve had for him ever since he picked me up from a boys’ home when I was eleven and told me that I had some grand destiny to fulfill. For once in my life, I’d had a purpose, a reason to keep going, and I clung to it like a lifeline. Now, I’m starting to realise that I was just the means to an end for him, and that end was  _ power.  _ If he was the guardian of the Chosen One, vanquisher of the Insidious Humdrum, he’d have the respect of anyone who was anyone.

I  _ want  _ to think he cared about me as a person, but even that is becoming increasingly hard to believe.

I killed him.

I killed him.

I didn’t mean to. I just said ‘stop hurting me,’ and I guess Penny’s magic decided that the only way to make that happen was to make his heart stop. I think I’ll be seeing the moment he died for the rest of my life.

And I don’t have magic anymore.

I’m holding out hope that it’ll come back. Penny thinks my parents must have been magical, so there should be some natural magic in my blood, buried beneath the mass of what I’ve been using for eight years. It might be so weak that I’m practically a Normal anyway. I wasn’t expecting what I had to come back, and now that I’ve lived for a while able to be angry and excited and sad without the threat of going nuclear, I’m not sure I even want it to.

I can’t even feel Penny’s magic anymore. I used to like it a lot: herb-y and warm and cozy. When she first cast a spell near me and I couldn’t feel it, I cried for two hours.

At least she made it. At least  _ Baz  _ made it. 

We’ve been spending a lot of time together at the weekends, the three of us. Penny leans against me like she always used to, and Baz sits a little way away from us, and holds my hand under the blanket. We’ve watched quite a few movies which it was apparently a travesty that I hadn’t seen:  _ Star Wars, The Notebook, Harry Potter  _ (which we stopped watching rather quickly, because it was just a little too soon), some Marvel movies _ , Die Hard. _ Sitting with the two of them feels like I’m finally home, like I’d been waiting my whole life for some semblance of peace, and I’ve finally found it.

Baz and I still haven’t technically told Penny we’re together. I’d be seriously surprised if she hasn’t figured it out by now, based on the near-constant longing glances and the number of times she’s come home and we’ve had to scramble to opposite sides of the couch, my cheeks a flaming red and his hair all over the place. She’s observant, and she almost certainly knows  _ something’s  _ going on between us.

It’s been three months now, since we became official. (We decided that’s our anniversary: 6th November) We’re happy and comfortable in our relationship. We’re both in this for the long haul. We say ‘I love you’ at the end of every Skype call, and every night before we fall asleep on the rare occasions that we get to spend a night together. 

I went to Baz’s other house, the one that isn’t currently a dead spot, for a long weekend, and we finally got some alone time. If everything with the Mage and the Humdrum hadn’t just happened, we probably would’ve spent the entire weekend playing tennis on the courts near the house, and then falling into the posh silk sheets, but neither of us had the energy to do any of that. We actually mostly just talked, and slept, and held each other as tightly as we could. 

(Sex is, logistically, a little difficult now that I have apparently-permanent wings and a tail. Even cuddling is, too. That’s okay with me. I’m happy to be the big spoon until I get these wings removed at some point.)

The lights are dimmed in Penny’s living room as the end credits of  _ Pride and Prejudice  _ (Penny’s choice) play, with just one of those rock lamps lighting the room in a pale orange glow. She disentangles herself from the blanket, and stands up, stretching her legs.

“Baz, it’s your choice next. What’re we watching?”

“Do you have The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy?”   
“Ooh, good choice, I think so. Let me check.” Penny’s family still has a rather large collection of DVDs, so she walks through to a storage cupboard and starts hunting.

I turn to Baz, once she’s left. He smiles, leaning down to kiss me, gently as anything. We like to steal these moments. Once he’s pulled away, I move so I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing him.

“I feel bad that she doesn’t know about us,” I say quietly, taking his hands.

“I’m happy to tell her. I was waiting for you. She’s _ your _ best friend.”

“I just don’t want her to feel like a third wheel, you know? When we’re all hanging out together.” Baz snorts at that.

“I think Bunce is mature enough to handle that. She has a boyfriend.”

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Let’s tell her—”

“Tell me what?” Penny says, strolling back into the living room carrying a bowl of popcorn and the movie Baz asked for. She puts the movie into the DVD player and settles next to me again, proffering the popcorn to us. She looks at Baz expectantly, and he looks at me, and I sigh.

“Okay, so, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for quite a while.” Baz nods at me to continue. “For— for a couple of months, Baz and I, we’ve, uh…” I trail off. I don’t quite have the words.

“We’ve been dating. I mean, we’ve been a couple. Boyfriends.” Baz finishes for me. I’m glad to see that he’s finding this as difficult as I am. He holds up our joined hands, and Penny’s face breaks into a grin, which she quickly stifles. She puts on a surprised expression.

“Oh, wow, I had  _ no idea,  _ that’s so surprising—”

“You knew already.”

“God, yeah. It’s not like either of you are any good at keeping secrets.”

“Hey, Baz is  _ super  _ good at keeping secrets. Did either of us know he was a vampire for seven years? No!” I say, and Baz smiles at me like I confuse him, but he’s not unhappy about it.

“Aww, standing up for your boyfriend, Simon?” Penny says, and I know that she’s decided our relationship is comfortable enough to be joked about immediately.

Baz, mercifully, changes the subject. “How did you figure it out? Like, what was the catalyst?”

“I kind of knew something was going on when Simon went to watch you practice every single week, and then I wouldn’t see him for the rest of the evening. And then once he came down to breakfast the next day with a hickey, and tried to pass it off as a bruise. And _then_ when I offered to have him here for Christmas, he told me he was staying with _you_. And, finally, Baz casted **On love’s light wings** to save _you_.” She keeps pointing at each of us, jabbing us gently in the chest with an extended finger.

“Oh, we were  _ terrible _ at hiding it, weren’t we?” I say to Baz, and he laughs, nodding.

“Yeah, I think just about everyone knew.”

“Mhm. There were bets placed on whether or not you were going to reveal your relationship before the end of the year,” Penny says, looking pleased with herself. “Gareth and Keris owe me twenty quid.”

“Of course they do. Can we watch the movie now?” Baz says, as I lay my head on his shoulder, and he kisses me again, barely a peck on the lips. Penny groans as she presses play on the remote. 

“Oh, Merlin, you two are going to be all couple-y now.”

“Get used to it, Bunce. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.

—

_ May 2016 _

**baz**

I wish I could really stay at Bunce’s house. With Simon. Not go anywhere. It would be much nicer than still being at school, just without Simon.

I pretty much live for the weekends— I drag myself out of bed to an empty room every morning at school, without Simon there to blunder around at six o’clock and wake me with his noisy puttering. Then, I have to concentrate through a full day of classes, feed in the evenings, and then slump back into bed, over and over. Simon’s been the one who makes Watford interesting for my whole time there, whether it was with his anger and laughable insults or affection and quiet evening kisses. 

Every Saturday, I drive down to the Bunces’ house, and spend the day with Simon and Penny, and then stay the night. Until we told Penny officially, I would drive back late at night, and I’d already be missing him, but now I can sleep over and talk to Simon alone, and then we can hold each other when nightmares inevitably come. It’s like a breath of fresh air, and it keeps me going as each week goes by.

One evening, I was kicking a ball about and chatting with Niall, when he brought up Simon, and I felt myself close off.

“How is he? Coping okay?”

“He’s alright.” I run to stop the ball, and kick it back to him with a little more force than was probably necessary. He runs after it, and I take a deep breath. It’s late Spring, and the air is just starting to gain the humid heat that comes with summer. The end of the year is drawing closer with every week that goes by, and I’m impatient to leave Watford, despite how much I’ve loved this school all these years. 

“You guys are still together, right?” Niall says, puffing and panting. “I reckon you’d be a lot less happy if you weren’t.”

“Yes, we’re still together. I’ve been driving down to see him and Bunce every weekend. Why?”

“I’m asking because I’m interested, because you’re my  _ friend,  _ and I  _ care  _ about you.”

“Disgusting.” He laughs, and I can’t help but join in. I haven’t seen as much of Dev and Niall recently as I would have liked, which is a shame, because they  _ are  _ my best friends, as much as they piss me off sometimes.

“But, seriously, Baz, you and Bunce and Simon went through some shit in December, and I never hear you talk about any of it. You know we’re always here, right? It’s alright to talk. Toxic masculinity, and all that.” He picks up the ball, and walks over to me, heading toward the gear shed. I wait around on the field— those sheds make me miss Simon even more. They were a rather good private makeout spot.

It’s true that I haven’t talked to either of them much about what happened. There’s a couple of reasons for that, and one of them is that I’m not entirely sad about it.

Of course, I’m devastated for Simon. He lost just about everything: his magic, his mentor/parental figure, Ebb. And he now has wings, for some reason, which are a constant reminder for him of everything he used to have. And I’m sad that he can’t come back to school. But for myself?

It feels like justice has finally been served for my mother. And that makes me feel so guilty, because I’m glad that the Mage is dead. I’ve always disliked him, on the behalf of the Old Families, but in those few hours between finding out that he ordered my mother’s murder and his death, I hated him so much that I could hardly contain it.  _ He  _ was the reason I’ve grown up without my mother,  _ he  _ was the reason I’m a vampire. And I can’t be sad about his death, even for Simon. I’ve just avoided the topic completely, wherever possible.

It’s complicated. And I don’t want any of it to be said out loud. 

Eventually, I do talk to Dev and Niall about that day, and about Simon, and they’re surprisingly good listeners. I’m  _ also  _ surprised at how much they can relate to us, and how much I actually didn’t know about them.

“Wait,  _ you two  _ are a couple?”

“Uh, yeah? We have been for a while? Did you not realise?” Dev says, sitting across from me at dinner, next to Niall, who’s blushing furiously. I guess being the frank one in the relationship runs in the family, since Dev’s my cousin, and he’s the only one who’s capable of talking about this with me.

Maybe it helps that he’s not a particularly sensitive soul, which  _ also  _ runs in the family. Niall’s spent so much time with us growing up that he’s practically family, but the Grimm-Pitch snark hasn’t rubbed off on him.

“Merlin and Morgana, nobody tells me anything.”

“Pot, kettle, black. You didn’t tell us about Simon, it took us walking in on you two for us to know  _ anything.  _ And, now, it turns out you were in love with him for  _ years  _ and just kept it to yourself!” Niall finally pipes up. He jabs his finger into the table dramatically with one hand, and the other looks suspiciously like it’s holding Dev’s. I smile— they remind me rather a lot of Simon and I, and I’m happy for them.

“What can I say? I’m elusive, secretive, mysterious, a child of the night—”

“An  _ edgelord  _ is what you are.”

—

_ Early July, 2016 _

**simon**

Penny and I are on our way to our fifth apartment of the day. So far, we haven’t found a single one we’ve liked enough to really consider renting, which is immensely frustrating, because I’ve been ready to go home for two hours and Penny’s absolutely set on seeing all of them today.

So far, three different real estate agents have assumed we’re a couple. The first time, we both laughed quite a lot and assured her that we are decidedly not, and the second and third time we just rolled our eyes.

I guess the assumption that a boy and girl trying to get an apartment together, both of whom look tired enough that we could be in our mid-twenties, could be a couple isn’t too much of a reach, especially since we walked in with my arm around her shoulders. That’s just how we are— especially since Christmas, we’ve gotten even more tactile than we used to be. It’s nice to have another person near you, when you feel like you’re in a dark place.

This final apartment has two bedrooms, a decent-sized kitchen, plenty of storage space. One of the criteria we had was ‘spacious’ since my wings aren’t exactly easy to control, and we wanted both bedrooms to be able to fit double beds. The apartment is technically going to just be mine and Penny’s (Baz and I decided it would be nice to live apart for a while, after rooming together for almost eight years), but we know that Baz will be here a lot, and Micah is flying over for a couple of weeks during the summer holidays.

I’m unbelievably excited for the summer. Baz will have graduated top of his class as expected, and we’ll all be legal adults, and all three of us are going to university afterwards. We can spend some time, before we throw ourselves back into education, just being young and happy and in love. Micah and Penny have planned a weeklong getaway— they’re going on a road trip somewhere or other— and Baz and I will have a week of dates and making out on the couch without fear of Penny walking in on us, and it’s going to be lovely. We’re going to drive to a beach somewhere, and Baz will cover himself with factor 50 sunscreen and I’ll drag him into the water, and when I kiss him he’ll complain that I taste like salt.

My relationship with Baz has almost entirely been smooth sailing. We’ve had a couple of arguments, mostly because I’ll say something about him being too good for me, or asking him why he’s even still with me now that I don’t have magic, or saying that I don’t need his pity. But we’ve gotten our communication skills pretty good now, and all of those kinds of arguments are rare. Time’s starting to heal the wounds we were all left with.

We’re both in this for the long haul. Our six-month anniversary of officially being boyfriends fell on a long weekend, back in May, and we got a cheap hotel room and a fairly nice dinner and then stayed between the sheets with my wings spelled hidden until after midday. 

It’s nice to be living like this. I’m still talking to my therapist, and while I still have bad weeks sometimes, that’s been keeping me afloat. So has Penny. So has Baz.

We finally thank the real estate agent for the apartment, and then sit in Penny’s mum’s car and talk for half an hour about which one we liked the most. Penny’s been driving us around all day, and we’re both pretty exhausted, so we end up just idly chatting while we drive home, the car and the roads bathed in the orange-pink summer sunset.

—

About a week later, Penny’s spelling my wings away so that the suit I’m wearing to the Leavers’ Ball fits right. It’s dark blue, and it belongs to Dr Wellbelove, and I feel a little self-conscious considering that I just  _ know  _ Baz is going to look incredible.

I pick at the hem of my trousers, and Penny swats my hands away.

“Hold still, Simon,” she says, yanking my arms down to my sides, “Or I’ll accidentally make all of you invisible instead of just your wings.”

I sigh, and stand still for a moment as she casts  **These aren’t the droids you’re looking for** , and suddenly even I can’t see my wings in the mirror.

“Will my suit fit over them now?”

“It should do. Put it on.”

Once I’m dressed, and Penny’s put something in my hair to stop it getting frizzy from the humidity, I think I’m ready to go.

“And you’re  _ sure  _ you don’t want to come too?” I say. She decided not to, claiming that she’d look sad if she went without a date, when even  _ I _ have one.

“One hundred percent. Plus, I don’t have a dress: it’s not like I can go like  _ this. _ ” She gestures to her current clothing (she’s in sweatpants which I think are mine and a t-shirt which I’m  _ sure  _ is mine).

“Fine, but I’ll take some photos.  _ And,  _ I’ll tell you if there are any surprising couples there.”

“I’d hazard a guess that you and Baz will be the most surprising couple, Simon.”

“Yeah. We’re going to steal the show.” Penny sits down on her bed, and I sit next to her. She looks like she’s working up to saying something. “What is it?”

“Do you want me to give him the ‘hurt him and I’ll end your entire existence’ best-friend talk?”

“What? Why?”

“It’s just—” She pauses, collecting her words. “You seem so much happier, now that you two are together, and I really don’t want you to lose that. Because as much as I do like Baz, he’s not exactly—”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. So, do you want me to talk to him? Because I can be pretty scary.”

“No. We’re good. And as much as he might not seem nice to you, he’s plenty nice to me.”

—

Almost everybody I’ve known for the last eight years is in this room right now. They’re dancing, paired off in mostly expected couples, and Penny was right about Baz and I being the night’s big gossip.

I slipped away for a moment about half an hour ago to go to the bathroom, and about three different girls and two boys asked me why the hell I had been joined at the hip to my ultimate rival all evening. I mostly just shrugged at them, trying to get back to Baz as quickly as I could.

The music has been getting progressively slower all night. We’re in the last hour of the ball now, and since people will probably start to leave fairly soon, they’re breaking out the romantic slow-dance music to encourage those here alone to get out on the dance floor together. After all, it’s common knowledge that almost everybody meets their spouse at Watford, and gets married very soon after.

The fact that being with Baz at the Leavers’ Ball makes people assume we’ll get married at some point is slightly terrifying. It’s not unwelcome, though— Dev made some offhand, joking comment like ‘ _ when’s the wedding’  _ to Baz earlier, and while I stammered and blustered Baz just said  _ ‘we’ll let you know’ _ like the smooth git he is.

Someone says that this is the last song of the evening, and everyone dawdles to the dancefloor as the opening of  _ Somebody to Love  _ by Queen plays. Baz and I are still out there, among the few couples who’ve been dancing for almost the entire time. Everyone leaves space around us, like they’re afraid Baz will bite their head off if they stand closer than a metre away. I think it’s also so people can look furtively over their partner’s shoulder at us. I catch Trixie’s eye, and she winks at me, mouthing ‘ _ nice’  _ and pointedly looking at Baz. I wink back. 

Baz pulls me closer, so almost our entire bodies are touching. His hand settles on my waist, and I don’t quite know what to do with  _ my  _ hands, so I just hold onto his. I think I’m stepping on his feet, but he’s still smiling.

“Sorry. I’m shit at dancing.” Baz huffs out a laugh.

“I don’t care. I’d still rather be dancing with you than anyone else.” The music rises in volume, and I can see people giggling and dancing wildly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Niall accidentally whack Dev in the face with his arm as he tries to spin him around. “Now, c’mon. I’m spinning you.”

I let one of his hands go, and step away for a second, and I almost trip as I clumsily spin. He manages to make it part of the dance, catching me with one arm and letting me tip backwards for a second before pushing me up, back to standing.

“Woah. That was dramatic.” I desperately want to kiss him.

“What can I say? I had to dip you at some point,” he says, taking my waist again. I pull him in close, and he releases my hand for a moment to fix my lapel, which had gotten creased at some point. His is perfect, still, despite the fact that we’ve been dancing (and slipping away occasionally to make out behind a bush, out of sight of the many gossipy students) all night, but I reach my hand out to press against his chest under the guise of tucking his shirt collar under his jacket. I like doing that: he claims his heartbeat is irrelevant because he’s  _ ‘dead’, _ but it’s comforting to press my fingertips against it anyway. It’s grounding. That’s also why I like holding his hand so much. If I focus, I can feel his pulse in his wrist. 

His forehead is pressed to mine, and we’re hardly dancing any more: everyone around us is spinning their partners and laughing, but we’re in our own little bubble of gently-swaying calm.

“Can I kiss you?” I say softly, because I don’t know who he’s told since I left Watford, and I don’t know if he’s comfortable with our relationship going from almost a secret to completely public, all at once. We’re standing so close that my lips are practically brushing his as I speak, and it’s not like it isn’t obvious we’re a couple.

“Absolutely you can.”

He kisses me, and it somehow feels like the first time it ever happened, going on a year ago now. It feels significant. It’s not burning heat and crackling flame, like our relationship so often is; it’s almost quiet, restrained, careful. It’s a movie kiss. As the lyric ‘ _ can anybody find me somebody to love?’ _ plays in the background, I can’t think of anything but him, and the feeling of my fingertips curling in the ends of his dark hair. I vaguely hear someone wolf-whistle and Dev shout ‘ _ get it, Baz!’  _ and I feel Baz smile against my lips, pulling away to grin at me.

A bubble in my chest bursts that I didn’t know existed, and I smile back at him, feeling that my heart eyes are probably just as meltingly soft as his are.

It’s kind of nice, being the centre of attention not because of  _ me,  _ for once, but because of  _ us. _

—

**baz**

As the night draws to a close, and almost everyone has left, Simon and I slip out to the hill above the football pitch for one last quiet conversation. As we left, yet more people asked us  _ what the hell, _ since apparently anyone who knew what was going on with  _ ‘Watford’s hottest new couple’  _ (Keris’ phrase, not either of ours) was suddenly rather important in terms of gossip.

Simon sighs beside me, and lays his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his back, quietly humming  _ Can’t Help Falling In Love, _ because they played it a while ago and I can’t get the damned song out of my head.

“That was… a  _ lot, _ ” he says, yawning and slouching against me a little more.

“Not terrible, though?”

“Quite enjoyed everyone fawning over us, though. You look fit as hell.”

“Thank you. As do you.” I press a kiss to the top of his head and lay back against the grass. Fuck my suit jacket. Cuddling under the stars with my boyfriend is much more important.

He lies beside me and grabs my hand, absently playing with my fingers.

“Merlin. Who would’ve thought?”

“About what?”

“ _ Us.  _ I know we’ve had this conversation before, but it’s still crazy to me that we made it to this point. Always kind of thought I’d die before I graduated Watford,” Simon says, and shrugs, as if what he’s just said isn’t so terribly sad that I can’t believe he said it nonchalantly.

“I don’t really know if you’re joking,” I respond, rolling to the side so I’m lying right next to him, cupping his cheek with my hand.

“I don’t know if I am either. Either way, I’m bloody glad I’m not dead.”

“I’m glad you aren’t dead, too, Simon Snow. I don’t quite know what I’d do if you were.”

I think it was the right thing to say, judging by how he pulls me into another heart-stopping kiss, his dew-damp hands startlingly cold as they brush over my cheeks. It’s summer, so the air isn’t freezing, which is a blessing because otherwise I’d probably have hypothermia. 

He smiles up at me, grass in his hair, and the starlight is shining in his eyes (which sounds cheesy, and definitely is, but it’s true, sue me), and he screws up his nose as a piece of my hair tickles it. 

“God, I love you,” he says. I don’t think the novelty of hearing Simon Snow say that is ever going to wear off. “So much.”

“I love you, too.”

—

**simon**

Baz’s car is quiet and warm, and the dark is making me kind of want to drift off here and now. I don’t doubt that Baz would carry me inside if I did. But the streetlights and the light of the dashboard is shining on his face, and I don’t want to stop looking.

He sees me looking at him in his peripheral vision as he drives, and reaches for my hand, squeezing it and letting them fall to rest on my thigh.

“Hey,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the peace, “Thank you for coming tonight. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Felt weird not to come, since I made it this far. And, besides, I’d never pass up on the chance to see you in a suit.”

“Feels like the end of an era, right? I have to go back to Watford to get my things, but other than that, school’s over. We’re adults.”

“Mm. We’ve got uni to think about now, though, which is kind of crazy. And— I’ll have to be living as a Normal, which is sad, I guess. And different.”

“You’re not a Normal, Simon, you have wings.”

“I guess. And I have a mage best friend and a vampire boyfriend. I shouldn’t be so put out about this.” I sigh, shifting in my seat.”

“You have every right to be sad about it, love. What is it specifically that’s bothering you?”

“I don’t know. I’m just… worried, I guess, that you’ll get bored of me. I’m not a mage anymore. My magic was what was interesting about me, the thing that made me stand out, without it, I’m just kind of  _ here.  _ Like, I’m nothing special.”

I’m glad he let me finish. We try not to interrupt each other too much— trying to finish each other’s sentences just leads to misunderstandings.

Baz pulls the car over to the side of the road and turns to face me, sighing. He takes my hand.

“Simon, I can’t promise that our future’s going to be smooth sailing, but what I can promise is that I’m never going to get  _ bored  _ with you. I’ve wanted this, to be with you, for so many years, and it wasn’t your magic that made me fall in love with you. It was— it was how you’re stubborn, and never give up on anyone or anything, no matter how difficult it seems. It’s how you instantly sacrifice yourself for the people you love. How you asked for sandwiches at the leaver’s ball. And, in a slightly more shallow way, how you’re damnably attractive.” I let out a snort of laughter at that.

“So are you. Did I mention how fit you looked in that suit?”

“You did, but I’m happy to hear it again,” he says, with the undeniably teasing note coming back into his voice. “But, flirting aside, I know that me just saying this probably isn’t going to make you stop thinking like that, but I mean it. Wholly and truly. I love you, and I’m not going to get bored of you.”

“I love you, too. And it does mean a lot, to hear you say that.” I squeeze his hand, and lean across the armrest to press my lips to his. We let them linger, sweet and slow, with none of the urgency that’s always seemed to drive the way we kiss— I guess there’s nowhere we need to be right now, no immediate danger or time limit. We have all the time in the world.

Baz is running his thumb over my fingers as he speaks, punctuating his words with kisses dotted over the freckles on my face. “You know, Dev was joking with his wedding comments, but you’re seriously stuck with me. As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

“I’m never not going to want to be with you, Baz, and that is a guarantee.” I pull away for a second, quickly considering whether it would be possible to clamber into the backseat. I decide, my brain semi-addled by all these romantic confessions and the kisses Baz has been placing strategically on the most sensitive parts of my neck, that we definitely can, and I unbuckle my seatbelt and maneuver my way between the seats about as gracefully as a hippo. Baz takes a second to cotton on, then miraculously manages to climb through after me without accidentally kicking or elbowing me with those long limbs of his. 

We’re both giggling the entire time, and his hair gets messed up both by brushing his head against the roof of the car and by my fingers threading through it as I pull him into a more heated kiss, lying on my back across the seats. I guess Penny won’t mind if we get back to her place a little later than planned.

Baz smiles down at me for a second, after I pull his shirt off, and between the glimmer of unrestrained  _ joy  _ in his eyes and all the emotions which have come out of today, I’m suddenly a lot more optimistic.

I know we might have to go through some more shit to get to our happy ending. Life isn’t going to be easy for people like us. 

But, when I think about my future,  _ our  _ future, for the first time in my life, I can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh MAN, I can't believe this fic is over! I'm going to miss it.
> 
> I've loved all the comments so much. Y'all give me endless motivation!
> 
> If you've been following this fic since the start, thanks for coming along for the ride! If you just found it, hello and thanks for reading!!!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's the longest thing I've ever written, and my favourite!
> 
> Oh, also? Shoutout to [vkelleyart on tumblr](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com) because her art of Simon and Baz at the leavers' ball was a GODSEND since i couldn't remember what their suits looked like and one of my friends has my copy of the book!!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thank you again!!
> 
> -Holly xx

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> my tumblr is [galaxy-houseplants](https://galaxy-houseplants.tumblr.com)


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